Since Keith has retired we sit on the carport nearly every morning with a final cup of coffee, talking and tossing treats to Chloe, watching the hummingbirds dogfight, listening to the squeaky whine of titmice fussing over the feeders, counting blooms on the Mexican petunias, and trying to decide if the clouds bode well or ill for the day.  Even in the summer, we enjoy our time, but in the summer one thing changes—the quiet of the country becomes the roar of the big shop fan.  That fan makes it comfortable enough, as it blows away the gnats and mosquitoes, and turns the early morning humidity into a cool breeze instead of a heavy and suffocating blanket.
            As a born and bred Florida girl, fans were a large part of my childhood.  We did not have air conditioning until I was a teenager, and central air did not come along until Keith and I had been married three years.  Not that it wasn’t invented, but it had not yet reached our income level.
            I remember summer afternoons at my grandmother’s house, sitting on the porch under the shade of oaks and chinaberries, listening to the soft whir and tick-tick-tick-tick as her old oscillating fan swept back and forth across us, evaporating the sheen of sweat and cooling us in the process.  That fan felt wonderful.  In an air conditioned world, I doubt many but my generation have known that feeling.
            This morning I came across Genesis 3:8 and saw a margin note I had never noticed before.
            And they heard the voice of the LORD God walking in the garden in the cool of the day…
            Did you know that word “cool” can also be translated “wind” or “breath?”  God created everything, including the cooling effects of wind and, thus, an evening breeze to cool off His earth.  So even the perfect garden must have become a bit warm during the “heat of the day.”  Surely God had already created the ability to perspire, as well, since that is essential to the function of the body.  Man, as he worked in the garden (Gen 2:15), must have become warm and must have sweated.  Then God sent the evening breezes to cool him off.  It wasn’t until after he sinned that the work became difficult and the heat and the sweat became intolerable, just as it wasn’t until after then that conception, which I view as the whole of the female condition, became painful.
            You can find that word again in Prov 17:27:  He who spares his words has knowledge, and he that is of a cool spirit has understanding.  “Spirit” is “wind” is “cool.”  So now I have fans and breezes and dispositions in my mind, and it all came out this way: If I have a hot nature, I need the cooling effects of the Spirit, and what better way than to read the word he “breathed” to cool me off?
            Many of us are foolish enough to put ourselves in situations where we know we will be tempted to anger, where we know we will be pushed and prodded and even shoved right in its path.  Why?!  We tell our children to avoid situations of temptation.  We tell them it’s downright stupid to go certain places and not expect trouble.  But we sometimes even contrive them, almost as if to flaunt our freedom to do so.  Then we shout out, “That shouldn’t have been so hard,” as we fall, flailing our arms for some sort of lifeline that isn’t there.  We decided we didn’t need it.
            This might be more motivating:  Not only can God cool us, but with the breath of his lips he shall slay the wicked, Isa 11:4.  One word seems to say it from every angle, just as the old oscillating fan hit from every angle.  Cool yourself off with the Word of God, and don’t go near the torrid zones.
 
​Whoever is slow to anger is better than the mighty, and he who rules his spirit than he who takes a city, Prov 16:32.
​Good sense makes one slow to anger… Prov 19:11.
​Be not quick in your spirit to become angry, for anger lodges in the heart of fools, Eccl 7:9.
 
Dene Ward

I have a hard time seeing cobwebs.  Every so often, Keith will grab a broom, wrap an old rag around it and go around sweeping my ceilings, especially in the corners.  He always ends up with a rag covered in lacy, pale gray webs that had hung from the white ceilings, hidden from my less than perfect vision.
            A few weeks ago, after returning from a ten day trip that combined family visits with a speaking engagement, I was exercising on the porch steps and happened to look at the screen door.  Maybe because I was concentrating on my repetitious step routine instead of simply going in and out, I saw a thick layer of cobwebs wrapped around the automatic door closer.  I looked a little higher and more hung from the hinges.  Yet a little higher and both corners were strung with white.
            These were not small cobwebs.  They were several inches in diameter and so thick the black metal door looked as if someone had splashed white paint on it.  This is what I’m saying:  they were easy to see and had been there quite awhile yet I had missed seeing them.
            Here’s a question for you.  If cobwebs were dangerous in some way, poisonous perhaps, which would be the most dangerous, the ones you can’t see, or the ones you can? 
            Let me make that a little easier for you.  Those cobwebs that Keith gets down for me?  Before he retired I might not have seen them, but I knew they were there—cobwebs always hang from the ceiling.  When any special company was on the calendar, I always got the broom and brushed them down myself.  I knew where to brush whether I could see them there or not.  The cobwebs that hang all over the screen door as clear as day?  Those I never see because I never look for them.
            When we raised our boys we taught them several ways to avoid poisonous snakes.  One was to stay away from places they could hide, like wood piles and thick brush.  We also taught them to look for odd shapes and movement in the grass—the only way to see past their natural camouflage.  But on a cold sunny day, those things won’t be in some dark place, they’ll be right out in the open, basking on a sun-warmed rock or lying in the sun-baked field.  Which ones do you think are the hardest to see, simply because you aren’t looking for them?
            Now think about the dangers in your spiritual life.  Which temptations are the most perilous, the ones you know to look for or the ones you don’t bother to look for?  Which of your faults are the most dangerous?  The ones you are trying to work on, or the ones you refuse to see?
            What’s the moral of the story?  Always be looking.  Don’t fool yourself with that psychological trick called denial.  It won’t make the snakes disappear.  It won’t make the poison less venomous.  You have an enemy who isn’t stupid.  He has great camouflage.  Sometimes he looks like a friend, sometimes he looks like a blessing, sometimes he even looks like you. 
            Do a daily character exam.  Look for the cobwebs in your soul.  Look where you see them and where you don’t.  Or get someone with better eyesight to do it for you, and then listen to them.  “That’s just how I am,” may be the biggest lie anyone ever got you to believe.  Blindness is not an excuse for sin.
 
For such men are false apostles, deceitful workmen, disguising themselves as apostles of Christ. And no wonder, for even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light. So it is no surprise if his servants, also, disguise themselves as servants of righteousness. Their end will correspond to their deeds, 2 Cor 11:13,14.
 
Dene Ward

 
            The car hummed along the highway as we carried our two grandsons to our home while mommy and daddy were away for a few days.  They slept away most of the two plus hour trip, waking in time to see the unfamiliar countryside sweep past on the last road “over the river and through the woods to grandma’s house.”
            They played the rest of the afternoon away, digging in the sand, chasing bubbles, and swinging on the old oak tree (the same one Daddy fell out of and broke his arm).  Dinner came only after a bath for those two dirty-faced, dirty-footed little fellows, a tub full of bubbles and cups and pitchers to pour over each other.  After their favorite mac and cheese, chicken nuggets and applesauce, it wasn’t long until their eyes were drooping and they were ready for bed.  “The tired-er the better,” we thought, especially for that first night. 
            They fell asleep quickly, twenty-month-old Judah in the “Pack and Play” and four year-old Silas by his own choice next to his little brother on the twin-sized airbed.  We listened through the rest of the evening, but never heard a peep. 
            However, at 4:52 a.m. I sensed something by my bed and woke to a small figure standing there in the starlight filtering through the curtains.  Dark in the country is not like dark in the city.  We have no streetlights—unless you live entirely too close to an uprooted city slicker who thinks he needs one, and we don’t.  We have no concrete to reflect the moonlight either.  When it’s dark, it’s dark, and if you are not used to navigating by God’s natural night lights, you think you woke up in a tomb.
            “Silas,” I whispered, “what’s wrong?”
            “All this dark is keeping me awake,” he said quite seriously, and even though I was sleepily thinking, “All this dark is supposed to keep you asleep!” I knew exactly what he meant.  Even though we had left a nightlight right by his bedroom door, it was far darker than he was used to, and when he woke it troubled him.
            By then Granddad had wakened as well, and he took him back to bed and lay with him until he was once again snoring his soft little boy snores, not much more than five minutes afterward.  He slept another three hours with no problem at all.
            I thought sometime later that week that this little boy had it right.  The dark should be keeping us awake.
            Even the Old Testament faithful understood the concept of walking in the light.  O house of Jacob, come let us walk in the light of Jehovah, Isa 2:5.  It seemed natural, then, for the Son to claim to be the light as well.  I am the light of the world.  Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life, John 8:12.  And so, as children of God, we, too, are lights.  For you are all children of light, children of the day.  We are not of night or of darkness, 1 Thes 5:5.
            Unfortunately, the light has come into the world and the people loved the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil, John 3:19.  As “children of light” we should be opposite the world.  We should not love the darkness; we should hate it. 
            This will come more naturally if we mature to the point that we don’t just walk in the light and not walk in the darkness.  Look at Eph 5:8:  for at one time you were darkness, but now are light in the Lord.  Do you see that?  Light isn’t just something you walk in, it is something you become.  Just as at one time you didn’t just walk in the darkness, you were darkness.  We have completely changed our essence.  No wonder we are supposed to hate the dark.  No wonder the mere presence of it in the world, among our neighbors, our friends and even our family, should be keeping us awake at night.
            All this dark is keeping me awake Lord, should be a lament on every Christian’s tongue.  Not only that, we should be actively trying to rid the world of that very darkness.  Have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness, Yes, rather, reprove them, Eph 5:11. 
            If the darkness in the world isn’t enough to keep a “child of light” awake, perhaps he has become something else.
 
Arise, shine; for your light is come, and the glory of Jehovah is risen upon you. For, behold, darkness shall cover the earth, and gross darkness the peoples; but Jehovah will arise upon you, and his glory shall be seen upon you. And nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your rising. Isa 60:1-3.

Dene Ward
 

We live on a slope.  The grade is gradual, so gradual you don’t really see it until it rains one of those sub-tropical downpours for which Florida is famous.  When four inches comes down in less than an hour, the property becomes a river two or three inches deep flowing downhill to the run, just past the property line.
            After the rain stops, the draining continues, though it slows to three or four tributaries and eventually two larger “rivers.”  One runs through the front yard, between the bird feeders, down around the house, across the septic drain field and off the property.  Another slants southeast through the PVC pipe culvert Keith installed under the road nearly forty years ago, down the berm on the north, edge of the garden and on east. 
            Usually within a couple of hours most of the water has drained, but puddles still fill a few low areas, and you learn where and how to walk for the next day or two.  On sandy land, the puddles dry up quickly, unless it’s the second weekend in a row with a four inch toad strangler.
            We learned early on to avoid those low spots for several days.  We first met one of our neighbors when we asked him to pull our car out of the mud with his tractor at least three times in one week.  Two months ago, for the first time in many years, he had to come down and do it again.  I knew what had happened when, after two deluges in one week, I heard the truck engine roar and looked out the window to see the back tires spinning and mud flying ten feet behind them.
            When you are stuck in the mud, you can’t move.  The wheels may rotate but all you do is dig ruts and uproot grass.  The harder you press the accelerator, the deeper the ruts and the less you move.  Even rocking the truck back and forth becomes impossible.
            Sometimes we get stuck in the spiritual mud.  It comes first with complacency.  We are happy with what we know and where we are, so we sit down, clasp our hands, and contentedly lean back with our feet up on the desk.  Proverbs speaks of the results of being a complacent “sluggard.”  Yet a little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to rest; so shall your poverty come as a robber, and your want as an armed man, 24:33,34.  Tell me the same thing won’t happen when we stop working on our spirituality.
            It isn’t just a matter of continuing to learn, though that is important.  An older woman in one of my classes has expressed appreciation for the new things I teach her.  “At my age it’s hard to find something new,” she said, “but you have given me that and it’s wonderful.”  Yes, the older you are, the more difficult it should be to find something new to learn, so you certainly cannot sit back and fold your hands in slumber—you must work even harder to find those things and they will be even deeper than the “first principles,” and require yet more thought and labor.
            But it is also a matter of progress.  I see people who haven’t changed one whit in thirty years, who still fight the same spiritual battles, who still fail the same way again and again.  I see people who still gossip, who still judge unfairly, who are still oversensitive and too easily offended.  I see people who still have their priorities upside down instead of finally learning the higher value of the spiritual over the carnal.  I see people who have come no closer to mastering self-control than when they were young and foolish—they just become too weary to go at it in their old age and that is all that has moderated their passions.
            So today, check to see where you stand—or wallow.  Are you stuck in the mud of worldliness and pleasure?  Are you glued in the mire of wealth and possessions and financial security?  Are you floundering in the quagmire of man’s philosophy and false theology?  Pull yourself out and start moving again.  If you cannot do it alone, call a neighbor to help.  That’s why God put us all here together. 
            And when the storms come into your life again, use your head—stay away from the low spots.  Find the high ground of spirituality and keep on climbing. 
 
I waited patiently for Jehovah; And he inclined unto me, and heard my cry. He brought me up also out of a horrible pit, out of the miry clay; And he set my feet upon a rock, and established my goings. And he has put a new song in my mouth, even praise unto our God: Many shall see it, and fear, And shall trust in Jehovah. Psalms 40:1-3.
 
Dene Ward

It must be a sign of age.  I find myself reminiscing a lot more lately.  When we walked the property with Lucas last Thanksgiving we talked more about the past than the present.  Certainly more than the future—which for us is suddenly so much smaller than the past.
            “Remember the wild myrtles by the fire pit?”
            “Yes, we sometimes hung a tarp on the branches so we could scoot under it and have a hot dog roast even in a drizzle.”
            “Remember the pine tree in the field?”
            “Yep.  That was first base.”
            “Remember how small these oak trees used to be?”
            “Yes.  I used to climb up limbs that are too rotten to trust any longer, what there are left of them.”
            I remember wondering what it would be like after the boys were grown, when we were living here alone in a quiet house and an empty yard.  No more wondering, only remembering.
            I have said to more than one who came seeking advice that looking back on our past can be helpful.  If you despair at ever becoming the Christian you ought to be, look where you were ten years ago.  Can you see any improvement?  Can you say to yourself, “I don’t act that way now,” about anything at all?  God meant for us to be encouraged, and I find nothing in the scriptures telling me I can’t take a moment every now and then to check my progress and use it as a gauge, both to spur myself on if I see none, and to invigorate my growth with any positive impetus it gives me.
            Many times we quote Paul’s comment to the Philippians, “Forgetting the things that are behind…” (3:13). In fact, I have heard preachers say we shouldn’t think about the past at all.  But Paul didn’t believe that.  He remembered all his life where he started, “the chief of sinners,” 1 Tim 1:16.  He used that memory to keep himself humble before others and grateful to God for the salvation granted him. It bolstered his faith enough to endure countless hardships and persecutions.  As a “chief sinner” he could hardly rail against God for the tortures he suffered when he knew he deserved so much more.
            God has always wanted his people to remember the past.  I lost count of the passages in Deuteronomy exhorting Israel to remember that they were slaves in a foreign country, and that God loved them enough to deliver them with His mighty hand.  Here is a case, though, where the reminding didn’t work as it did for Paul.  Still, God tried.  What is the Passover but a reminder of their deliverance from Egypt?  What is the Feast of Tabernacles but a reminder of His care for them in the wilderness?  What was the pot of manna in the Ark of the Covenant, the stones on the breastplate of the ephod, and the pile of rocks by the Jordan but the same?  “Remember, remember, remember!” God enjoined.  It’s how we use that memory that makes it right or wrong.
            Paul says we are to remember what we used to be.  “And such were some of you,” he reminds the Corinthians in chapter 6, after listing what we consider the worst sins imaginable.  You “were servants of sin” he reminds the Romans in 6:17.  You once walked “according to the course of this world,” “in vanity of mind,” “in the desire of the Gentiles,” and in a host of other sins too numerous to list (Eph 2:2; 4:17; 1 Pet 4:3; Col 3; Titus 3.)  Those memories should spur us on in the same way they prodded Paul.  Nothing is too hard to bear, too much to ask, or too difficult to overcome if we remember where we started.  Be encouraged by your growth and take heart.
            And then this: let your gratitude be always abounding, overflowing, and effusive to a God who loves us in whatever state we find ourselves, as long as that growth continues.
 
Therefore remember that at one time you Gentiles in the flesh, called "the uncircumcision" by what is called the circumcision, which is made in the flesh by hands-- remember that you were at that time separated from Christ, alienated from the commonwealth of Israel and strangers to the covenants of promise, having no hope and without God in the world. But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ, Ephesians 2:11-13.
 
Dene Ward

It happens every time Keith and I walk the property.  Suddenly I find myself pushed into the rough while he walks the path.  I learned a long time ago to just push back and he immediately realizes what he is doing.
            Keith was raised in the Ozarks, born in a farmhouse in the back country, down a rocky lane and across from a cow field lined with wild blackberries, a steep hill rising straight from the back porch.  As a boy he walked the woods, his feet naturally finding the easy way among all the stones, limbs, and golf ball sized black walnut hulls and acorns as he gazed upward into the trees.  If he doesn’t actively think about what he is doing, his feet still do that from long ingrained habit.  He’s always embarrassed and aggravated with himself when he realizes what he’s done to me, and he appreciates the nudges when I find myself knee high in briars. 
            Life is a little like that.  Most of us live everyday muddling through as best we can, oblivious to anything but our own cares, our own needs, trying to make things run as smoothly as possible.  What makes “a bad day” for us?  When things don’t go smoothly—a malfunctioning coffee pot, a stubborn zipper, a flat tire on the way to work, a traffic jam that makes us late when we had left in plenty of time, a spouse or toddler who had the ill grace to wake up in as foul a temper as we did. 
            It takes active thought to control your selfish impulses and consider others.  It takes effort to accomplish the difficult—self-control, self-improvement, compassion for people who, like us, don’t deserve it.  But that’s exactly what our Lord expects of us.  This is exactly the example he left us.
            Even under a weight of responsibility none of us can imagine, he gave his disciples his careful attention and encouragement.  Even in tension-filled situations he showed compassion to both the sick and the sinner.  Even in tremendous pain and weakness, he remembered his mother and forgave the pawns of a murderous mob.
            If Jesus had looked for the smooth way, none of us would ever have hope of one.  But if all we look for now is the smooth way, we may as well enjoy it while we can.  It’s the only smooth way we will ever have.
 
Enter in by the narrow gate: for wide is the gate, and broad is the way, that leads to destruction, and many are they that enter in thereby. For narrow is the gate, and straitened the way, that leads unto life, and few are they that find it. Matt 7:13,14.
 
Dene Ward
 

I still have fond memories of Silas’s first solo visit with us out here in the country.  He was not quite four and stayed three nights alone, no mom and dad to get in the way and spoil the fun!  The first morning we had to assure him that walking outside barefoot was not a capital crime, but once his toes hit the cool green grass, he giggled delightedly.  “I like bare feet!” he instantly proclaimed, and took off running. 
            He was used to being inside all day, playing with his Matchbox cars, putting together puzzles, reading books, and watching his “shows,” educational though they might be.  Yet he found out there were a lot of fun things to do outside, especially when you have five acres to romp around in instead of a postage stamp-sized yard.  That’s all they give you in the city these days. 
            He and Granddad whacked the enemy weeds with green limb “swords.”  They pulled the garden cart up the rise to the carport and rode it down.  They dug roads in the sandy driveway and flew paper airplanes in the yard.  They played in the hose and threw mud balls at one another.  Every night this little guy went to bed far earlier than he usually did at home—it was that or pass out on the couch from exhaustion as we read Bible stories.
            My favorite memory is watching him as we walked Chloe every morning.  He begged for one of my walking sticks and I adjusted it to his height.  Then he ran on ahead, hopping and skipping along, holding granddad’s too-big red baseball cap on his head with one hand so it wouldn’t fall off, the walking stick dangling from the other upraised arm, singing and laughing as he went.  That picture of sheer joy will forever be etched in my memory.  He may have been too little to remember it himself, but someday I will tell him about it, someday when he needs a reminder of joy at a not so joyous time. 
            I remember that time nearly every morning when I walk Chloe, especially when we reach the back fence where Silas’s little feet suddenly took off on the straightaway and his laughter reached its peak.  And I wonder if God has anything etched in His memory, anything from that time in Eden when everything was perfect and his two children felt joy every day in their surroundings, in each other, and in Him.  Surely, the God who knows all has special memories of how it used to be.  Can you read the end of Revelation and not think so? 
            Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city; also, on either side of the river, the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, yielding its fruit each month. The leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations. No longer will there be anything accursed, but the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him. They will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. And night will be no more. They will need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever, Revelation 22:1-5.
            Maybe God has recorded that so we, too, can be reminded not of what we have lost, but of what we have waiting for us.  Maybe He put it there for the times when life here is not so joyous, a picture of hope to carry us through.  It may not be etched in our memories—not yet—but the fact that He still remembers it and wants it, means someday we won’t have to count on etchings any longer.  Some day it will all be real once again.

Dene Ward
 

We hadn’t driven that road in years, a narrow county road I used to jog down every morning.  At that time one end was so well wooded that more than once during hunting season I heard bullets whizzing across the road behind me when I jogged.  I learned to sing loudly while I ran. 
            The morning of our drive the sunlight came in exactly as it had all those years ago, slanting rays peeking through the trees from the east, clear and bright where they hit the road, a crisp fall morning, the humidity of summer left behind.  Then we came upon them, house after house, places where we had known the people who had lived there, one after the other along the west side of the road, then the south as the road made a ninety degree bend to the left.  We named the people as we rode by, and when we finished we looked at one another and realized that every one of them was dead.
            Yet there the houses still stood, some with new families, but most empty, houses those people had built themselves, nice homes mine could fit in twice over, carefully landscaped property, barns, sheds, pools, and other outbuildings—empty.  I thought of the Preacher’s words: I made great works. I built houses and planted vineyards for myself. I made myself gardens and parks, and planted in them all kinds of fruit trees. I made myself pools from which to water the forest of growing trees… Then I considered all that my hands had done and the toil I had expended in doing it, and behold, all was vanity and a striving after wind, and there was nothing to be gained under the sun, Eccl 2:4-6,11. 
            If ever there was a time I understood Ecclesiastes, it was that morning.  All these things people spend their money on, all these things they think will make them happy, none of them really matter because sooner or later you die and leave them behind.
            So I hated life, because what is done under the sun was grievous to me, for all is vanity and a striving after wind. I hated all my toil in which I toil under the sun, seeing that I must leave it to the man who will come after me, and who knows whether he will be wise or a fool? Yet he will be master of all for which I toiled and used my wisdom under the sun. This also is vanity. So I turned about and gave my heart up to despair over all the toil of my labors under the sun, because sometimes a person who has toiled with wisdom and knowledge and skill must leave everything to be enjoyed by someone who did not toil for it. This also is vanity and a great evil, Eccl 2:17-21.
            Maybe, though, the writer overreacted a bit.  Why hate your life?  Why not just change it?  When you learn that you control your happiness, that happiness does not lie in circumstances but within yourself, then you change the emphasis of all you do.  Why not spend your time making other people’s lives better?  Why not spread the good news in whatever way you are still able?  Why leave only an empty house behind when you can leave something far more lasting—an example, words of comfort and encouragement, the Word of God taught in whatever way possible to any and all who will pay attention?  But of course, the Preacher does reach this conclusion as you read on in Ecclesiastes:  Fear God and keep His commandments, for this is the whole of man, Eccl 12:13.
            After you are gone, what will people say when they drive past what used to be yours?  Will they merely say, “That’s where so-and-so used to live?”  Or will they say, “Remember that brother and sister?  They were such good people.”  How are you spending the time God has given you?  What will you leave behind?  How much better to leave the memories of a life full of joy and service than an empty building no one will care about anyway.
 
And he told them a parable, saying, "The land of a rich man produced plentifully, and he thought to himself, 'What shall I do, for I have nowhere to store my crops?' And he said, 'I will do this: I will tear down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.' But God said to him, 'Fool! This night your soul is required of you, and the things you have prepared, whose will they be?' So is the one who lays up treasure for himself and is not rich toward God." Luke 12:16-21
 
Dene Ward

Out here in the country, just about every man has a pickup truck.  Most of them are several years old, caked in mud, a little rusty, and dented here and there.  That’s because those trucks are used. 
            We have one too.  It’s over twenty years old, usually wears a coat of dust, and sports a bed with scrapes, dings, and lines of orange rust.  It has hauled wood for our heat and leaves and pine straw for mulch.  It has carried loads of dirt to landscape the natural rises and dips of our property.  It has toted lawn mowers and tillers to the shop for repair.  It has gone on several dozen camping trips, filled to the brim of its topper with tents, sleeping bags, coolers, suitcases, firewood, and food.
            Whenever we go to town, it always amuses me to see a man in a tie get out of a pickup truck, especially if that truck is clean, polished, and less than two years old.  I asked such a man once why he needed his pickup.  “To drive,” he said.  What?  Isn’t that what far more economical cars are for?  He actually took better care of his truck than his car, polishing it to a high enough sheen to blind the driver in the next lane, and vacuuming it almost daily.  Obviously, his pickup was for show.  “A man ought to have a truck after all.”  Why?  Because it makes him a man?
            Before you shake your head, consider that this happens with many more things than pickup trucks.  Why do you have the type of car you do?  Not a car, but that particular one.  I know some people who think the brand is the important part, that somehow it says something special about them.  Why do you live where you do in the type of house that you have?  Is it a big house because you have a big family, because you use it to house brethren passing through who need help, because you show hospitality on a regular basis?  Or is it because someone of your status ought to have a house that size in that neighborhood?
            I suppose the saddest thing I have seen is women who have children because “that’s what women do.”  Their careers or busy schedules or social standing is far more important than the child, who is raised by someone else entirely, with mommy making “quality time” whenever she can spare a moment or two.
            The Israelites of the Old Testament had similar problems.  They wanted a king “like the countries round about them.”  Somehow they thought it made them a legitimate nation.  Do we do similar things in the church?
            Why do we have a preacher?  I have heard people say we need one to look valid to the denominations around us.  Why do we have a building?  “Because that would make us a real church.”  Neither of those things is wrong to have, but our attitudes show us to be less than spiritual, not to mention less than knowledgeable, when we say such things. 
            Why do you have elders?  “Because a church this size ought to.”  That may very well be, but you don’t fix the problem of a church that hasn’t grown enough spiritually to have qualified men by choosing men who are anything but just so you can say you have elders.
            A lot of us are just silly boys who think that having a pickup truck makes them real men.  Let’s get to the root of the problem.  What makes you a Christian, what makes a church faithful, is a whole lot like what makes you a man, and outward tokens have nothing to do with it.
 
"As for you, son of man, your people who talk together about you by the walls and at the doors of the houses, say to one another, each to his brother, 'Come, and hear what the word is that comes from the LORD.' And they come to you as people come, and they sit before you as my people, and they hear what you say but they will not do it; for with lustful talk in their mouths they act; their heart is set on their gain. And behold, you are to them like one who sings lustful songs with a beautiful voice and plays well on an instrument, for they hear what you say, but they will not do it. When this comes--and come it will!--then they will know that a prophet has been among them." Ezekiel 33:30-33
 
Dene Ward

I grew up in Central Florida so I am familiar with houseflies.  We even had them in the winter.  After every annual Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner at my grandmother’s house, she pulled all the food to one end of the table, then carefully draped the other end of the tablecloth back over the bowls and platters for anyone who wanted to snack all day.  That way the flies couldn’t use the food as landing strips.
               When Keith and I moved to the country, flies became an ordeal.  Even with air conditioning, they manage to zoom in between door openings and closings, especially when, as was the case for several years, not twenty feet outside our back door lay a well-populated cow pasture. 
               What I was not ready for were yellow flies.  I had never dealt with a fly that bites.  The first time one landed for a snack, it left me with a hard, sore knot the size of a ping pong ball.  Keith tells me this is not the usual case, that I must be hypersensitive, but whatever is going on here I do my best to stay away from yellow flies.
               When I jogged, I always passed one place on the road where one particular yellow fly made it his business to give me grief.  He buzzed my head like a crop duster, and I am sure my pace increased to near world record speeds on that hundred foot stretch of highway every day.  I am also certain I looked pretty funny swinging and swatting away with both hands, but it was the only way to keep myself free of those painful welts.
               I thought of that fly chasing me down the road when I read this verse:  But as for you, O man of God…pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, steadfastness, and godliness, 1 Tim 6:11.
               Most of the time we focus on the things we are supposed to be pursuing in that passage, but did you ever wonder exactly how you should be pursuing them?  Like a yellow fly, as it turns out.
               And falling to the ground he heard a voice saying to him, "Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?" And he said, "Who are you, Lord?" And he said, "I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting. Acts 9:4-5
               I did a little research into that word “pursue” and those are the verses that popped up.  “Pursue” is translated more than any other English word, more in fact, than all of the choices put together, as “persecute,” just as it is in Acts 9.  We are supposed to “persecute” all righteousness, godliness, faith, love, steadfastness, and meekness.  What?!
               Just think for a minute about how Saul went about persecuting Christians.  He went from city to city.  He made appointments with the authorities to get what we might think of as warrants in order to put them in prison.  Then he testified against them to make his case.  Many times this persecution was “to the death.”  Once he finished in one place, he moved to the next, and to the next, and to the next.  Persecuting Christians was his life.
               How much of our lives do we spend trying to become more righteous, more godly, more loving, and all those other things that Paul says we should pursue?  How much time, how much effort, how much sacrifice do we give to it?  Or do we instead offer excuses for poor behavior we should have mastered years ago, for sins we refuse to overcome?  If we were pursuing righteousness the way Paul pursued—persecuted--Christians, if we spent our lives doing whatever was necessary to learn to love as we ought, if we “buffeted our bodies” to become more godly, if we spent the same amount of time bolstering our faith that we do soothing our egos or building our bank accounts, maybe those things wouldn’t be so difficult to chase down.
               When I think about being pursued by that pesky, persecuting yellow fly, I instantly understand what I should be doing to become a better disciple of my Lord.  Come out and visit some day and I’ll see if we can’t arrange the same experience for you!
 
Follow after (pursue, persecute) peace with all men and holiness, without which no one shall see the Lord,  Heb 12:14.
 
Dene Ward