Some have called eggs the perfect food with their own perfect container.  I recently heard a TV cook say they are “hermetically sealed.”  Eggshells themselves are stronger than their reputation says.  After all, birds sit on them for days, and it takes a good deal of effort for a baby bird to peck its way out of one.
            However, it doesn’t take more than one instance of carelessness to discover just how easily they will break.  Mine usually make it home from the grocery store in one piece, in spite of being placed in a cooler with a couple of bags of groceries and an ice block, and then traveling thirty miles, the last half mile over a bumpy lime rock lane.  Only once in nearly 30 years have I opened my cooler to find eggs that have tumbled out and cracked all over the other groceries.
            You must also be careful where you put them on the counter.  Most recipes require ingredients at room temperature, so I take the butter and eggs out a half hour or more before I plan to use them.  I quickly learned to put them in a small bowl so they couldn’t possibly roll off the countertop onto the floor, even if I did think I had them safely corralled by other ingredients.  Somehow they only roll when you turn your back.  As I recall, that recipe required a lot of eggs, and suddenly I was short a couple.
            Because of their relative fragility, we have developed the idiom “walking on eggshells.”  When the situation is tricky, when someone is already on a short fuse, we tread carefully with our words, as if we were walking carefully, trying not to break the eggshells under our feet.  Sometimes that is a good thing.  No one wants to hurt a person who has just experienced a tragedy.  No one wants to carelessly bring up a topic that might hinder the growth of a babe in Christ.  Certainly no one wants to put out a spark of interest in the gospel.  But sometimes the need to walk on eggshells is a shame, especially when the wrong people have to walk on them.
            I suppose every congregation has one of those members who gives everyone pause; one who has hot buttons you do your best not to push;  one who seems to take offense at the most innocuous statements or actions.  The shame of it is this:  in nearly every case I can remember, that person is over 50, and most over 60.  “You know old brother so-and-so,” everyone will tell newcomers.  “You have to be careful what you say around him.”  Why is it that younger Christians must negotiate minefields around an older Christian who should have grown in wisdom and forbearance?
            Do you think God has nothing to say about people like this? 
            The vexation of a fool is known at once, but the prudent ignores an insult. Pro 12:16
            Hatred stirs up strife, but love covers all offenses. Pro 10:12
            Good sense makes one slow to anger, and it is his glory to overlook an offense. Pro 19:11
            Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. 1 Cor 13:7
            Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins. 1 Pet 4:8.
            Now let’s put that all together.  A person who is quick to take offense, who is easily set off when a certain topic arises, who seems to make a career out of hurt feelings is a fool, imprudent, full of hate instead of love, divisive, and lacking good sense.  That’s what God says about the matter.  He didn’t walk on eggshells.
            On the other hand, the person who overlooks insults, who doesn’t take everything the worst possible way, who makes allowances for others’ foibles, especially verbal ones, and who doesn’t tell everyone how hurt or insulted he is, is wise, prudent, sensible, and full of love.  Shouldn’t that describe any older Christian, especially one who has been at if for thirty or forty years?
            So, let’s take a good look at ourselves.  Do people avoid me?  Am I defensive, and quick to assume bad motives?   Do I find myself insulted or hurt several times a week?  Do I keep thinking that everyone is out to get me in every arena of life?  Maybe I need to realize that I am not the one that everyone always has in mind when they speak or act.  I am not, after all, the center of the universe.  Maybe it’s time I acted the spiritual age I claim to be.
            Maybe I need to sweep up a few eggshells.
 
Put on then, as God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. Col 3:12-14.
 
 

When Nathan married, he and his bride asked for my cheesy potato recipe.  It is nothing fancy.  A lot of people make it or something similar and call it funeral potatoes or hash brown casserole.  This one might be a little cheesier than those, though, which accounts for its name.
            My daughter-in-law took it to one of her first potlucks as a bride.  Half a dozen people must have asked her for the recipe.  But nearly every one of them said something like this when they saw the recipe: "But I don't like garlic.  Would it be okay without it?"
            Excuse me, I thought.  You just ate it with the garlic in it and liked it so much you asked for the recipe.  You didn't even realize it contained garlic.  And no, it would not be the same recipe if you changed it.  That's what the word "change" means.  This is all logic, but people don't seem to get it because of personal preference.
            But why should I be so surprised?  People do this all the time with God's Word.  They see how we live—with joy and peace no matter what comes, and they want it.  But when we show them the recipe?  "I don't like that part.  Would it be the same without it?"  No, it would not.  All those various parts enable us to live with joy and peace, even when troubles come our way.  And besides that, it's God's recipe.  I wouldn't want to have the arrogance to tell him that part of it doesn't appeal to me!
            In the beginning I said that I knew of other potato recipes that were similar to mine.  Notice that:  similar, not the same.  There is a reason Nathan likes mine, and now Brooke's, the best.  And there is a reason that God prefers His way of doing things.  You don't have to use my recipe.  But you had better think twice about ignoring His.
 
​There is a way that seems right to a man, but its end is the way to death (Prov 14:12).
 
Dene Ward

Of all the disappointments in our new home, the range had to be one of the biggest.  I am a cook.  Not necessarily a good cook, but someone who likes to cook.  An adventurous cook who will try things that no one else will either because it is too complicated, takes too long, or has strange ingredients or procedures.  So I walked into this house and found a 21 year old glass top econo-model that didn't even have a light in the oven.  Despite being that old, it still had the new "safety feature" that automatically turned off the elements when it decided it was on too high.  Do you know how hard it is to boil water with those things?  And I nearly ruined the Christmas fudge because it wouldn't come to boil in a timely fashion and I wound up having to judge it by looks alone, long after I would have been finished with my old electric coil-top.  It turned out edible but too soft.
            And the oven?  I put a thermometer in there and told it to heat up to 220.  It preheated up to 278, and then dropped to 176 before it turned back on, heating itself back up to 260 before kicking off again!  No wonder my Thanksgiving dinner was a bit off.  The apple pie, which looked gorgeous on top, had a completely raw bottom crust. That has never happened to me in nearly 50 years!  This thing had to go!
            So we talked to our wonderful appliance store brothers (church family, that is) and were told that even the new coil tops had that awful "safety feature" and they no longer recommended them.  It seemed that the only choice that was really a choice was either gas or induction.  Down here in Florida, gas stoves heat up the kitchen way too much.  And then there is all that political nonsense going on about them too.  So we opted for the induction.
            The first thing we found out when they gave us a magnet to take home to test all of our cookware, was that we had to chuck practically every item in the cabinet and buy a completely new set—which raised the already too expensive price of the range even more. 
            Then the oven came—three weeks later!  (The microwave still hasn't shown up.)  The young men who delivered it, gave a quick rundown of how it worked and I thought, "Well, that's not bad."  Then I sat down and read the manual and nearly cried I was so overwhelmed.  I would have to learn to cook all over again, and a lot of hard-earned knowledge would be useless.  Well, it's been a few weeks now and I am doing better, but it's not easy to have to cook with a user's manual in one hand and a recipe in the other.  Then after dinner I must make copious notes on each recipe.  But maybe by next Thanksgiving I will be able to bake a decent apple pie again.
            My husband has been very patient as I learn.  No complaints if something is a little over done or takes longer than expected.  He knows what I am dealing with and he knows that at our ages, change and learning new things is much more difficult.
            Sometimes we forget that with our new brothers and sisters.  It seems the baptistery waters have hardly stopped sloshing when we expect them to know things automatically.  Too many times a Bible class teacher will say something like, "We won't go over that part because we all know it."   (I have had new converts complain about this—they feel purposely left in the dark.)  And we expect their usual behavior to change immediately as if a switch has been turned on.  It doesn't work like that.  How long did it take me to learn what I know?  And if I hadn't been raised to know what not to do, how long would it take me to break a bad habit?    Even Heb 5:12 says that these things are learned by "constant practice."  Just how long is "constant?"  Longer than some of us seem to think.
            Let no man despise your youth, 1 Tim 4:12, Paul told Timothy.  He might have meant his chronological age in that passage, but tell me it cannot apply to a Christian age too.  Think about all those passages about children in the gospels.  See that you despise not one of these little ones…, Matt 18:18.  When Jesus spoke these words, he also said, But whoever shall cause one of these little ones that believe on me to stumble, it is profitable for him that a great millstone should be hanged about his neck, and that he should be sunk in the depth of the sea (Matt 18:6).  Did you notice that"  "One of these little ones who believe."   "Children" is simply a metaphor for newer believers.
            Sometimes new Christians catch on easily.  Maybe they had a good family with good morals when they were growing up.  But some did not.  Some are making changes as large as night and day.  Some never held a Bible in their lives until they ran into a Christian who taught them.  Remember the last time you had to learn something brand new.  Be as patient as you expected others to be with you.  Computers, smart phones, and now this induction range are all big changes for me, things I am not a natural at and have to work hard to use.  But my children and my husband are patiently teaching and helping. 
Don't give up on the babes.  If you find it difficult to be patient, just think about that millstone.  While they are learning the basics, you can learn a little longsuffering.  Perhaps that is a brand new concept for you!
 
Now we that are strong ought to bear the infirmities of the weak, and not to please ourselves. Let each one of us please his neighbor for that which is good, unto edifying. For Christ also pleased not himself; but, as it is written, The reproaches of them that reproached thee fell upon me (Rom 15:1-3).
 
Dene Ward

Keith said it not long ago and I know he is right.  When you take a cake to a potluck, no matter how small you cut the pieces, a woman will come along and cut one of those tiny smidgens in half.
            Once I took a large cake to a gathering.  It was a decidedly rich cake.  I knew that, so I carefully cut half inch slices, which tapered to veritably nothing in the middle.  Sure enough, along came a woman who stood there trying her best to cut one of those slices in half vertically.  What did she do?  She backed up the line for one thing because it took her well over five minutes, and all she ended up with was a pile of mush.  A three layer cake with frosting and filling will simply not hold together in a quarter inch slice.  I am strongly tempted to try that the next time and see if someone attempts to cut a quarter inch slice in half as well!  Can I suggest that it would be easier to take a whole slice and share with someone else, or wrap up the other half and take it home?
            But of course, the point today is a spiritual one.  How many times have you seen someone doing their best to get as little spirituality into their lives as possible?  What else can be the reason behind such questions as, "Do I have to attend on Wednesday nights?"  Or how about comments like, "I would love to go to that class, but they expect so much work out of you in between classes."  Or, "That class is too deep for me."  Those are just the ones having to do with Bible study.  One wonders how much is too much when it comes to living a Christlike life.  I have heard comments about drawing a line in their commitment that make me wonder if the person even understands the word at all.
            Stop cutting the cake in half.  Stop cutting the brownies that were already one inch square into quarter inch crumbs.  While it is true that there is more depth in even a half inch of God's Word than any other book ever written, He expects us to want to pig out on it, not get as little as possible!  And He expects our lives to be as full as the cup of blessings He gives us every day—full and running over.  Wouldn't you hate for Him to cut that in half?
 
What shall I render to the LORD for all his benefits to me? I will lift up the cup of salvation and call on the name of the LORD, I will pay my vows to the LORD in the presence of all his people (Ps 116:12-14).
 
Dene Ward
 

My family loves gravy.  I would never think of serving bare rice or naked mashed potatoes.  There must always be gravy. 
            On the other hand, sometimes you cannot have gravy.  When you grill a steak, there is no gravy.  When you smoke a chicken quarter, there is no gravy, and if somehow you did catch the drippings, you wouldn’t want them.  Believe me, I tried it once.  Smoked drippings simply taste bitter.  Oh, you can always fake it with butter, flour, and canned broth, but any gravy connoisseur will know the difference.  You only get really good gravy with fresh meat drippings, flour sizzled in the pan, and some kind of liquid.
            Yet, if your life depended upon it, you would choose the meat over the gravy any time.  You would know that the only real nutritional value, the only real protein, is in the meat and not the gravy.  If you tried to live on nothing but gravy alone, you would soon starve.  You might be round as a beach ball, but you would still starve.
            Too many times we give up the meat for the gravy.  We give up marriages and families for the sake of career and money.  We give up a spiritual family that will help us no matter what for fair weather friends who won’t.  We even give up our souls for the sake of good times, status, and convenience.
            Then there are the times when it seems like life makes no gravy.  So we give up God because he dared to allow something less than ease, comfort, and fun into our lives.  Can’t have the gravy too?  Then I don’t want you, Lord.  You’re going to give up a grilled rib eye because it doesn’t come with gravy?  Really?
            I doubt we realize exactly what we are doing.  The problem is that we have things reversed.  We think this life is the meat, and the next is just the gravy.  That is what we are saying when we give up on God because things didn’t turn out so well here.  Justin Martyr, a philosopher who was converted to Christianity in the early half of the second century wrote, “Since our thoughts are not fixed on the present, we are not concerned when men put us to death.  Death is a debt we must all pay anyway” First Apology, chapter 11. 
            Can we say that, or are we too addicted to our pleasure loving, wealthy culture?  The first Christians converted with the knowledge that they would probably lose everything they owned and die within a matter of weeks, if not days.  And us?  We are out there looking for the gravy and blaming God for his scanty menu.
            The fact is we do have some gravy promised in this life.  We just look for it in the wrong places.  Then Peter said in reply, "See, we have left everything and followed you. What then will we have?" Jesus said to them …everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or lands, for my name's sake, will receive a hundredfold and will inherit eternal life. Matt 19:27,29.  Are you still looking to the world for your gravy?  Jesus plainly says the place to look is in your spiritual family.  When it works as he intended--even if it only comes close—it is far better than anything the world will ever offer you.
            So remember where to find your spiritual sustenance.  Remember where to go when times are rough and you need a hand.  And even those things are not the meat.  The meat is eternal life with a Creator who loved you enough to die in your place.
            Everything else is just gravy.
 
…train yourself for godliness; for while bodily training is of some value, godliness is of value in every way, as it holds promise for the present life and also for the life to come, 1 Tim 4:7,8.
 
Dene Ward

Cooking is a funny thing.  Sometimes you can mess around with it and sometimes you can’t.  My recipe for minestrone is not something a purist would recognize as minestrone, and it’s never the same.  Some of it depends upon what’s in the refrigerator, and some of it comes from our likes and dislikes.  You can change it around, but as long as it winds up as a brothy soup with a bunch of vegetables in it, some kind of pasta, and some Mediterranean herbs, you can call it minestrone.  You really can’t mess it up unless you do something just plain weird with it, like pouring in a bottle of molasses.
            Baking is another matter.  You must think long and hard before you change anything in a recipe for baked goods.  If you don’t, it can fall, or not rise, or be too dry to choke down, or so “short” that it turns into crumbs when you touch it.  If you use baking soda, you must have an acid like buttermilk or sour cream.  If you get any fat in your egg whites they won’t whip.  If you don’t heat the liquid, your yeast won’t rise, but if you heat it too much you kill it. Baking is chemistry and it does make a difference.
            A lot of people don’t want to follow any sort of recipe in their religion.  They think it is about good hearts, sincere love, and feeling good, none of which is quantifiable, and therefore none of which can be legislated.  They will proclaim that the early church did things differently depending upon the location and the culture, and in some cases they are correct.  Just like cooking minestrone can be varied according to the ingredients on hand and the palates of the eaters.  But sometimes it is like baking—it does make a difference if you don’t want your cake to fall.
            The word may not be used in the New Testament, but the concept of an appropriate orthodoxy is there in black and white.
            And when they had appointed elders for them in every church, with prayer and fasting they committed them to the Lord in whom they had believed. Acts 14:23.
            That is why I sent you Timothy, my beloved and faithful child in the Lord, to remind you of my ways in Christ, as I teach them everywhere in every church. 1 Cor 4:17.
            Only let each person lead the life that the Lord has assigned to him, and to which God has called him. This is my rule in all the churches. 1 Cor 7:17.
            For God is not a God of confusion but of peace. As in all the churches of the saints, I Cor 14:33.
            Now concerning the collection for the saints: as I directed the churches of Galatia, so you also are to do. 1 Cor 16:1.
            There are certain things the apostles expected to be done everywhere.  The methods were not always specified, and that’s where we get to choose our ingredients, but the other things are religious “baking”—things that must be done for our service to God to be acceptable.  If we think we can change the chemistry we are wrong.  Put egg whites in a greasy bowl and they will not turn into a beautiful meringue no matter how sincerely you beat them.
            As you can plainly see from the passages quoted above, God expects some control over our service to him.  Some folks chafe at the idea that we cannot change anything and everything about our religious service at our own whims.  Israel had the same problem and wound up in Babylonian captivity.  Don’t make the mistakes they did.
 
He will render to each one according to his works: to those who by patience in well-doing seek for glory and honor and immortality, he will give eternal life; but for those who are self-seeking and do not obey the truth, but obey unrighteousness, there will be wrath and fury, Rom 2:6-8.
 
Dene Ward

You would probably be as surprised as I was to learn that vichyssoise, a cold potato leek soup, is an American invention.  Chef Louis Diat of the Ritz Carlton in New York City, was reminiscing one day about a potato soup he and his brother had enjoyed in their childhood.  As boys, they would cool it off during the hot summer by adding milk.  So the chef decided to give his customers a similar experience the summer of 1917, except that what began as potatoes, onions, chicken broth, and milk for peasants became potatoes, onions, leeks, chicken stock and cream, much more suited to a wealthier clientele.  Something similar happened to bouillabaisse.  What began as a stew made by sailors with fish scraps now goes for as much as $75 a bowl in French restaurants.  Talk about an expensive bowl of soup.  Yet most soup is exactly the opposite.
            We eat a lot of soup.  It’s cheap, filling, and healthy.  Even one as high as 400 calories a bowlful is a good meal, and most are far less fattening, coming in at about 200 per serving.  You won’t get tired of it because of the nearly infinite variety. 
            We have had ham and bean soup, navy bean soup, and white bean and rosemary soup.  We’ve had cream of potato soup, baked potato soup, and loaded baked potato soup.  I’ve made bouillabaisse, chicken tortilla, pasta Fagioli, and egg drop soups.  For more special occasions I have prepared shrimp bisque, French onion, and vichyssoise.  We’ve warmed our bones with gumbo, mulligatawny, and clam chowder.  I’ve made practically every vegetable soup there is including broccoli cheese soup, roasted tomato soup, and lentil soup.  And if you want just plain soup, I have even made chicken noodle.  You can have soup every week for a year and not eat the same one twice.
            Not only is it cheap to make, it’s usually cheap to buy.  Often the lowest priced item on a menu is a cup of soup.  I can remember it less than a dollar in my lifetime.  Even now it’s seldom over $3.50.  So why in the world would I ever exchange a bowl of soup for something valuable?
            By now your mind should have flashed back to Jacob and Esau.  Jacob must have been some cook.  I have seen the soup he made that day described as everything from lentils to kidney beans to meat stew.  It doesn’t really matter.  It was a simple homespun dish, not even a gourmet concoction of some kind.
            Usually people focus on Jacob, tsk-tsk-ing about his conniving and manipulation, but think about Esau today.  Yes, he was tired and hungry after a day’s hunt.  But was he really about to starve?  I’ve had my men come in from a day of chopping wood and say, “I could eat a horse,” but not only did I not feed them one, they would not have eaten it if I had.  “I’m starving,” is seldom literal.
            The Bible makes Esau’s attitude plain.  After selling his birthright—his double inheritance—for a bowl of soup, Moses writes, Thus Esau despised his birthright, Gen 25:34.  If that inheritance had the proper meaning to him, it would have taken far more than any sort of meal to get it away from him.  As it was, that was one expensive bowl of soup!
            The Hebrew writer uses another word for Esau—profane--a profane person such as Esau, who for one mess of meat sold his own birthright, Heb 12:16.  That word means “unholy.”  It means things pertaining to fleshly existence as opposed to spiritual, things relevant to men rather than God.  It is the exact opposite of “sacred” and “sanctified.”  Jacob understood the value of the birthright, and he also understood his brother’s carnal nature.  He had him pegged.  So did God.
            What important things are we selling for a mess of pottage?  Have you sold your family for the sake of a career?  Have you sold your integrity for the sake of wealth?  Have you sold your marriage for the sake of a few “I told you so’s?”  Have you sold your place in the body of Christ for a few opinions?  Have you sold your soul for the pleasure you can have here and now?
            Examine your life today, the things you have settled for instead of working for, the things you have given up and the things you gave them up for.  Have you made some really bad deals?  Can you even recognize the true value of what you have lost?  Don’t despise the blessings God has given you.  Don’t sell your family, or your character, or your soul for a bowl of soup.
 
Brothers, join in imitating me, and keep your eyes on those who walk according to the example you have in us. For many, of whom I have often told you and now tell you even with tears, walk as enemies of the cross of Christ. Their end is destruction, their god is their belly, and they glory in their shame, with minds set on earthly things. But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, Phil 3:17-20.
 
Dene Ward
 

We finished dinner and for probably the 50,000th time, I laid my folded napkin to the side of my plate.  You could hardly tell it had been used.  I looked across the table.  Keith's napkin lay in a crumpled up wad a good foot to the side of his plate.  We won't even go into the stains, but please tell me how a dinner of pot roast so tender it fell to pieces, mashed potatoes, carrots, and green beans from the garden could result in that!
            And you now know why I do not use paper napkins.  Keith would use half a dozen at every meal.  That simply does not fit into my grocery budget.  At least cloth napkins are washable and therefore reusable, and you don't have to worry about picking up the greasy white shreds that have snowed all over the floor after a meal of ribs or fried chicken.
            From the very start of our marriage we have used cloth napkins, not just for company or formal occasions—all the time.  Over the years I have amassed a stack of four or five dozen I suppose, maybe more.  And it did not take long to learn one important thing about napkins, and here it is.
            After eating with us a few times, a kind lady I knew wanted to help me out.  So she bought a remnant of permanent press cloth, a pretty floral print with a beige background.  It was actually a perfect match for my china.  She carefully cut out 12 inch squares and hemmed them on all four sides.  "You won't have to iron these," she said as she handed me a dozen beautiful cloth napkins.
            I used those napkins for years just because they were a gift, but now that sweet lady is gone and so are those napkins.  Unlike cotton, permanent press, at least in those days, did not soak up anything.  If you had a small spill, they merely pushed the liquid around.  If you had a smear of grease on your hands or face, it was still there after you wiped.  They were beautiful to look at and no, I never did have to iron them, but useless when you needed them to do what napkins are supposed to do—absorb messes.
             After forty years of standing in front of Bible classes and even larger groups of women, I can say that some women are cotton napkins and some are permanent press.  I imagine any man who has taught Bible classes, or any preacher, can say the same thing.  You can tell when someone is interested—they soak it up.  Sometimes it's the note-taking; they can't seem to do it fast enough.  Other times it's the look in the eyes, the posture, or even facial expressions.  When you are planning a speech, you expect a laugh here, a gasp there, a groan or even the feminine variety of "Amen."  You expect some sort of reaction if you have crafted your words carefully enough and chosen the scriptures that will suddenly slam the door on an attitude or behavior that needs changing.  When you get none of that, either you don't know what you are doing after all, or you have an audience full of permanent press napkins.
             Every time you attend one of these functions, every time you hear a sermon or sit in a Bible class, and every time you open your Bible for some real Bible study, it should change you.  At first the changes will be big.  You are new to this Christian business so you have a ways to go and the alterations should be noticeable to those who know you best.  Then as you mature spiritually, the changes will become smaller—maybe an attitude adjustment, maybe just a change in private behavior that few people will see, but a change nevertheless.  If that does not happen, you have become a permanent press napkin.  You might look good on the outside.  You might even match the "china" around you on Sunday mornings.  But instead of soaking up the Word, the water of life, you will just be pushing it aside out of your way.
            Even one permanent press napkin in the audience is too many.  Check your label today and see what you are made of.
 
And have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge after the image of its creator. Col 3:10
 
Dene Ward

You would think after all these years that I would know better.  You should never take a brand new recipe to a potluck or try it out on guests.  There is a reason cooks talk about "tried and true" recipes.  But I saw this gorgeous "Chocolate Glazed Peanut Butter Filled Torte" in a magazine, one that is usually trustworthy, and wanted to make it.  Keith and I do not need rich desserts around the house for just us two, so taking one somewhere else means we seldom have more than a piece or two to splurge on when we bring the remains back home—which may sadden my heart, but not my waistline.  It looked good, the ingredients sounded good, and I had them all which was an added bonus.  So here we go…
            This was one of those uber-rich cakes with scarcely enough flour to hold it together.  When I read that I was to cut this two inch thick layer in half, fill it, and then put the top back, I should have known there would be trouble with so little flour.  And there was.  First, it sank about halfway in the middle.  That meant when I took my long serrated knife and tried to cut it in "half" there was nothing in the middle to cut.  What I cut off looked like a tire.  Calm down, I told myself as my pulse and respiration increased, the filling will show through there and it will look like it's supposed to be that way. 
            But then I tried to remove that top.  It came away in sections.  You would have thought a Lamaze class was going on I was panting so hard by then, but I carefully put the pieces on another plate and kept them all where they were supposed to go.  "There is a chocolate ganache glaze," I kept chanting.  "Ganache fixes anything!"
            I got the peanut butter filling on and learned immediately to be careful spreading it, otherwise the cake sticks to it and rolls right up over the knife.  More panting and chanting.  Finally I got the filling spread on the bottom layer.
            Now it was time to reassemble the jigsaw puzzle of a top.  Except the cake was so moist that a thin layer of it stuck to the plate the top was sitting on.  And the large sections broke into small chunks.  Gradually, I got all the pieces put back on top of the cake.  With the peanut butter filling, the torte was now nearly 3 inches high, in spite of losing a good eighth of an inch on that other plate, but it looked like a chocolate mosaic.
            No one has been happier to make ganache than I was that day.  This will cover all sins, I told myself.  It will be shiny and beautiful.
            Oh, it was nice and shiny all right, but underneath that glistening surface you could see every lump and bump, every nook and cranny, every place where anything underneath was not absolutely perfect.  Kind of reminded me of the last time I tried on a dress a size too small.
            So now what?  Do I take this monstrosity to our potluck?  Well, it was a tiny little potluck made up of one of my classes and their families and they always count on me for an entrée and a dessert.  I had no time left to make another after having spent not only two hours on this ugly thing, but another one on the entrée and another couple studying.  And besides that, this thing was expensive.  I sure couldn't afford to throw it away.
            So the next afternoon I took my so-called torte and apologized for bringing the ugliest thing on God's creation to our lunch.  For some reason, it didn't stop them from eating it, and one even asked for the recipe.  "Sorry," I told her, "I threw it away."
            Well, guess what?  Every one of us is an ugly cake.  God took beautiful ingredients and made us "in His own image," but for some reason we all eventually turned out just plain ugly.
            We have all sunk into the morass of sin and crumbled beneath its weight.  Even when we proclaim our commitment we often manage to stick to things we should have let go of.  We fall to pieces in trials and temptations instead of standing strong.  It took Him a few thousand years of piecing things together, fixing the things we made even more messes of, and spending the most awful cost to do it, but He made us into a cake that tastes pretty good when we follow His directions.  Oh, the lumps and bumps may still show through occasionally.  Our imperfections may leave scars that simply cannot be hidden, but He is ultimately satisfied when we forget about trying to fix things ourselves and just do it His way, not worrying what others might think about how we look.  He won't give up and throw us away, but will take us to the Feast he has prepared, and will not be ashamed of what an ugly cake we were to begin with.  After all, ganache—in this case, grace—can fix anything.
 
Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me. (Rev 3:20)
 
Dene Ward

Over forty years ago Time-Life put out cookbooks containing authentic recipes from all over the world.  I picked up some of them at a used book store in the 70s and several recipes have found a permanent place in my repertoire.  From the Chinese book I cook Pepper Steak, Sweet and Sour Pork, and Egg Rolls that are as good as any Chinese restaurant’s I have ever had.  From the Italian one I use the Pasta Fagioli, the pizza dough and the marinara most often.
            That marinara may, in fact, be the recipe I use more than any other.  From it I make pizza sauce, spaghetti sauce, and the sauces for eggplant parmagiana, chicken parmagiana, and anything else you can parmagiana.  I use it with meatballs, ground beef, and Italian sausage on pasta, and as a dipping sauce for calzones.  You can change it up with various herbs and extra vegetables like mushrooms and peppers.             
            Whenever I serve it, I get remarks like, “Wow!  This tastes so—Italian!”  Indeed, and why shouldn’t it when it is made the way Italians like it—olive oil, onions, garlic, tomatoes, basil, salt and pepper, and a little tomato paste if your tomatoes are extra juicy.  It is simple.  I can put it together in ten minutes and let it simmer for 30-40 with only a stir here and there.  It has thoroughly spoiled my family. 
            Once, because it was on sale and we were in a hurry, I picked up a canned sauce, one of the better ones as I recall, not simply Ragu.  After the first bite, Keith looked at me and said, “What is this?  Tomato syrup?”  You see, Americans have become so addicted to sugar that nearly all the processed sauces are full of it. 
            I watched a blind taste test on a television show once, a homemade tomato sauce made by a trained chef, an authentic Italian sauce a whole lot like mine, against a national brand in a jar.  The majority preferred the jarred one.  They said the homemade one wasn’t sweet enough.  Why doesn’t that make people sit up and take notice?  Pasta and sugar?  Yuk.  It even sounds awful.  But that’s what Americans want it seems; not the true, authentic sauce, but the syrupy one they have grown accustomed to.
            I think the same thing has happened with religion.  It doesn’t matter to us how the first century church did things.  What matters is the hoopla, the spectacle, and the histrionics we have grown accustomed to.  If it excites us and makes us feel good, that’s what we want.  If I can compartmentalize the corporate part of it into a once-every-week-or-so pep rally, and then live as I prefer with no one bothering me about it, then religion has served its purpose.
            That religion--mainstream denominational religion--has totally changed its focus.  It is nothing but a religion of self.  Authentic religion is about God.   It wants only what God wants.  It lives only for Him and his purpose.  It understands that whether I am happy or comfortable or excited has nothing to do with faithfulness.  In fact, faithfulness is often shown best when those things are lacking. 
            Authenticity in religion does matter if you mean to be worshipping someone besides yourself.  I remember the days of old; I meditate on all that you have done; I ponder the work of your hands. I stretch out my hands to you; my soul thirsts for you like a parched land, Psalm 143:5,6.  When David was in trouble, when it mattered how God received him—he thought back to the old days.  The prophets often told the people to repent and go back to the old ways, the times when they worshipped God truly, instead of pleasing themselves in hedonistic idolatry.
            If you find yourself dissatisfied with your religious life, if you see differences in how your group attempts to worship God and how the original Christians did, maybe it’s time for you to go on the hunt for some authenticity.  Do it before you become addicted to the noise and excitement.  It is possible to worship in simplicity and truth.  It is possible to be encouraged by like minded brothers and sisters who want to please God instead of themselves.  In the end, they come far closer to the selfless ideal of their Savior than those who are determined to have what they want “because that’s how I like it,” instead of caring anything at all about how God might like it.
 
Thus says the LORD: "Stand by the roads, and look, and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way is; and walk in it, and find rest for your souls. But they said, 'We will not walk in it.' I set watchmen over you, saying, 'Pay attention to the sound of the trumpet!' But they said, 'We will not pay attention.' Therefore hear, O nations, and know, O congregation, what will happen to them. Hear, O earth; behold, I am bringing disaster upon this people, the fruit of their devices, because they have not paid attention to my words; and as for my law, they have rejected it, Jer 6:16-19.

Dene Ward