Along time ago we lived near a man who raised a little livestock.  He had a sow down the fence line from us, and one summer morning we woke to find piglets rooting their way through our yard, trying to find mama. Mama was too big to get under the pen, but the babies weren’t.  After that we kept tabs on those piglets, and the boys, who were about 6 and 4, loved going to see them.  Baby animals, as a general rule, are cute—even pigs.
 
             One evening I stuck my head out the door and hollered extra loudly, “Dinner!” because I knew that’s where they were.  Keith said they started back immediately, Nathan on his shoulders, and Lucas walking along side.  About halfway back he swapped boys, and told Nathan to run on ahead and wash his hands. As he watched, Nathan ran along the sandy path toward our driveway, then veered to the left instead of to the right toward the house.  Immediately his father yelled, ‘What did I tell you to do?!” and Nathan instantly changed his direction and ran for the house without even a backward look.

              As he approached the deep shade of the drive himself, Keith felt an inch tall.  Nathan’s tricycle was off to the left, parked in the hedgerow by our chicken pen.  That’s what he had been headed for because his father had taught him to always put up his tricycle.

              He put Lucas down on the ground and sent him on into the house as he went for the tricycle himself, to put it up for his younger son, who had only been trying to obey his father in all things.  Just as he got there, a gray-green cottonmouth as thick as a bike tire tube charged from the bushes.  Keith was able to grab a shovel in time and kill it. 

              Imagine if he had been a four year old.  Would he have seen the snake in time?  Would he have even known to be on the look out as one should here in the north Florida piney woods?  Cottonmouths are not shy—not only will they charge, they will change direction and come after you.  A snake that size could easily have struck above Nathan’s waist, and at only forty pounds he was probably dead on his feet.

              Now let me ask you this—does your child obey you instantly?  Or do you have to argue, threaten, bribe, or cajole him into doing what you tell him to do?  Do you think it doesn’t matter?  The world is filled with dangerous things, even if you don’t live where I do—traffic, electricity, deep water, high drop offs—predators.  If you don’t teach him instant obedience, you could be responsible for his injury or death some day--you, because you didn’t teach him to obey.  Because you thought it wasn’t that important.  Because you thought it would make him hate you.  Because you thought it made you sound mean.  Or dozens of other excuses.

              We put our boys in child car seats before it was required by law.  We actually had other people ask us, “How do you get him to sit in the seat?”  Excuse me? Isn’t it funny that when the law started requiring it, those parents figured it out?  Not getting in trouble with the law was evidently more important to them than the welfare of their children.

              The hedgerows don’t go away when your child grows up.  In fact, they become even more dangerous if you haven’t taught him as you should have.  Isn’t it sad when the elders of the church have to nag people to get them to do one simple thing for the betterment of the church or the visitors whose souls they are supposed to care about, like sitting somewhere besides the two back pews?  Those are probably the same people who as children had to be begged to obey their parents. 

              Do you want to know what someone was like as a child?  I can show you the ones who threw tantrums; they’re the ones who threaten to leave if things aren’t done their way.  I can point out the ones who wouldn’t share their toys; they won’t give up anything now either, especially not their “rights.”  The snake in the hedgerow has bitten them, and this time it poisoned their souls, not their bodies.

              Look around you Sunday morning.  Decide which of those adults you want your children to be like when they grow up.  It doesn’t happen automatically.  It happens when loving parents work hard, sometimes enduring a whole lot of unpleasantness and even criticism, to mold their children into disciples of the Lord.

              Danger hides in the hedgerows.  Make sure your child’s soul stays safe.
 
Now Adonijah [David’s son and] the son of Haggith exalted himself, saying, "I will be king." And he prepared for himself chariots and horsemen, and fifty men to run before him. His father had never at any time displeased him by asking, "Why have you done thus and so?" 1 Kings 1:5-6.
On that day I will fulfill against Eli all that I have spoken concerning his house, from beginning to end. And I declare to him that I am about to punish his house forever, for the iniquity that he knew, because his sons were blaspheming God, and he did not restrain them, 1 Samuel 3:12-13.
 
Dene Ward

The cliché is now true—my doctor is my social life.  When you start seeing the same issues of the same magazines in four different offices, you know it's so.  So the other day I actually found a new magazine to look at:  Country Living.  Let me look through this, I thought.  Maybe I am one of the few here who could appreciate it. 

              Boy, was I wrong.  In fact, the title of this magazine was wrong.  This was not country living it depicted.  It was some wealthy people who decided they wanted to get out of town and thought the peace and quiet would be wonderful, but only a few minutes a day of it.  I know them personally.  We have several within a mile of us.  One of their homes (well, it might as well have been one of the ones near us) was showcased in a ten page spread so you could copy their decorating schemes.  Notice these items:

              Plank floors in a 15 x 20 kitchen--(Are they planning to square dance in it?)

              A pedestal sink in the "powder room"--(A powder room?  A mud room out in the country, maybe, but forget powdering your nose if you're going out to the garden in June or July here in Florida.) 

              Cabinet hardware at $25 each piece--(A $25 cabinet knob?  I mean, really, all you do is pull the thing, and sometimes you still have some of that garden mud on your hands when you do.)

              $35 each throw pillows in an all-white room--(An all-white room in the country?  Where there are no sidewalks and you have to walk through the mud to get to the steps?)

              $1400 each wicker chairs on the front porch--(I couldn't relax just walking ten feet away from a $1400 chair, much less sitting in it.  And no one in their right mind would shell peas or shuck corn in it. So what's it good for?)
No, this is not country living.  It is mere pretense.  In fact, our experience has been that these are the folks who pack up and head back into town (a 50-60 mile round trip) 5 or 6 days a week to go shopping, play a round of golf or a set of tennis, have lunch with the girls, or get a manicure.  The only thing they do in the country is sleep.  Try inviting them over to help with hog-slaughtering day in return for some of the meat and watch them melt into a pale puddle of angst.

              But—take a look around you on Sunday morning and you will find that this magazine isn’t the only place for pretenders.  Some people go to church because you are "supposed to."  That's what good, moral people do.  I grew up around a lot of folks like that.  Some choose a place out of convenience, not because they believe what it teaches.  Others go because their parents raised them that way, not out of any real conviction.  Some go for the benefits—people come see you when you're sick, someone will always help out if you have a need, and there is always a preacher handy for weddings and funerals.

              So let's think about it this morning.  Why am I where I am on Sunday mornings?  If I can't come up with an answer beyond the ones above, I just might have a problem.  I might be no more a Christian than those folks I know who are not "country people," no matter where their home happens to be located.  God expects a commitment—one of the heart, one of faith, one of understanding what you believe and why and being willing to stand up for it. 
God expects Christians who really are.
 
“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. (Ezek 33:30-32)
 
Dene Ward

We had no land when we first moved to the country and were forced to rent a house in the hamlet nearby.  We were only in that big old frame house for 5 months, but I will never forget it.  Uneven flooring, tall drafty ceilings, and, when we moved in, no heat and no running water.  It was January 1st.  We sat around the table in hats and coats eating oatmeal or soup for every meal, and hauling water in buckets.  Eventually the truck company next door let us hook our garden hose to their well spigot.  We pulled the hose through an inch wide gap under the kitchen window and ran it into the sink beneath, which at least made the haul shorter. 

              After about a week the well man came out and fixed the pump, and the gas man filled the tank.  Still it wasn’t warm.  Room-sized gas space heaters in the bathroom, kitchen, and living room did little to mollify the effects of fifteen foot ceilings and cracks between the planks in the floor through which we could see the ground three feet beneath.  It was the coldest winter I remember in this area—but maybe it was just that house.

              When early spring rolled around I remember standing on the back stone steps in the sun—probably for the warmth.  Keith was on his haunches petting the dog, a black and brown mixed breed we had picked up at the pound a year earlier and named Ezekiel.  The boys were standing next to him listening, probably to some daddy advice.  They were 4 and 2, oblivious to our living conditions, and perfectly happy. 

              Suddenly the breeze picked up and over the house something floated down out of the sky and landed across Keith’s shoulders, hanging down on each side of his chest.  It was a snakeskin.  When we figured out what it was, he couldn’t get it off fast enough.  It must have been four feet long, with perfect scale imprints all along its length.  It creeped me out, as the kids say these days.  I still shudder when I think of it.  Maybe that’s why I still remember that house so well.

              I remembered that house and that event again recently when we passed a fifty gallon drum by the woodpile and there lying across it was another perfect snakeskin, three feet long, hanging over each side of the barrel.  They still give me the creeps when I see them, or the heebie jeebs, or whatever you choose to call that horrible feeling that runs down your spine, makes you shiver to your shoes and your hair stand on end.  Maybe it’s because I know that somewhere nearby there is a real snake.  I can’t pretend there aren’t any out there simply because I haven’t seen one lately.

              I’m sure you could make a list of things that give you that feeling.  What worries me is that nowhere on anyone’s list is the three letter word “sin.”  It ought to give us the creeps to be around it, to see its effects on the world, people fulfilling their every lust, their hearts full of hate and envy and covetousness, lying as easily as they breathe.  It ought to make us shiver to hear the Lord’s name taken in vain from nearly every mouth, even children, or the coarse, crude, vulgar language that passes for conversation—and entertainment!-- these days.  Why?  Because you can be positive the Devil is somewhere nearby.  He’s just waiting to drop out of nowhere and drape his arm around your shoulder.  Before you know it, you will be dressing like everyone else, talking like everyone else, and acting like everyone else.  In short, you will be like everyone else, walking around swathed in snakeskin, hugging it to yourself instead of ripping it off in disgust.  

              Don’t think it can’t happen to you, especially if sin doesn’t give you the creeps to begin with. 
 
The fear of the LORD is hatred of evil. Pride and arrogance and the way of evil and perverted speech I hate... Seek good, and not evil, that you may live; and so the LORD, the God of hosts, will be with you, as you have said. Hate evil, and love good, and establish justice in the gate; it may be that the LORD, the God of hosts, will be gracious to the remnant of Joseph…Let love be genuine. Abhor what is evil; hold fast to what is good, Prov 8:13; Amos 5:14,15; Rom 12:9.
 
Dene Ward

When I was a city girl, nearly forty years ago, I was scared to death of snakes.  I still don’t like them.  The difference is I can tolerate a non-poisonous one on the property now, trusting they will pay their way with all the rodents they keep out of my house; and when a poisonous one comes along I don’t freeze or run around in circles, screaming in hysteria--I just dispose of the thing.

              You know the best way to kill a snake?  Well, it may not actually be the best way, but the city girl in me thinks it’s perfect—a shotgun full of number one shot.  For those of you who are still city folks, that’s a load for large animals, like deer.  We had a rattler once when Keith was at work, and even though I kept from freezing or panicking to the point of uselessness, I still forgot to unload the larger shot and replace it with number four, a load for smaller animals.  That means when I shot that snake with that huge shot, I blew it to smithereens.  As I said, I was extremely satisfied.

              Well—mostly satisfied.  The thing kept right on writhing.  Yes, I know all about their reflexes and that they thrash about after death.  But that thing was flexing and re-flexing entirely too much to suit me.  So I got the .22 pistol and put a few more shots in it.  Then, I was satisfied.  When I picked the thing up with the tines of the rake to throw it into the burn barrel, it hung in chunks connected only with a few strings of skin—and it didn’t wiggle at all.  Best looking rattlesnake I ever saw.  The boys can make fun of me all they want, and laugh about it as they have for the past thirty-something years, but that snake was dead and there was no question about it.

              Some of us don’t make sure the snake is dead.  In fact, we not only leave it writhing, we put it somewhere for safe keeping just in case it isn’t dead after all.  That’s how we treat repentance.  I know I shouldn’t be indulging, so let me put it up on the shelf instead of down here on the counter top where I can see it every day.  I mustn’t be that obvious about it.  No!  Let’s get it out of the house altogether!  Whatever it is.

              It doesn’t have to be a huge sin of the flesh.  It doesn’t have to be a bottle of booze or a stack of pornography.  Sometimes it’s a gossip-fest.  I know that my friend always dishes the dirt, but I still make plans to see her every week.  If for some reason I must see her, then I go with no plan for how to avoid the sin, and yesiree, it pops up and, I just couldn’t help it, Lord.  You know how she talks—and how I listen. 

              Whatever it is, God expects me to kill that snake and make sure it’s dead.  Another one may come my way, but there is really no good reason for the same one to be making an appearance over and over.  If it does, I didn’t use the buckshot--I just shot a BB and missed.

              Don’t cuddle up to a rattlesnake.  Kill the thing, and make sure it’s dead.
 
Besides this you know the time, that the hour has come for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we first believed. The night is far gone; the day is at hand. So then let us cast off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light. Let us walk properly as in the daytime, not in orgies and drunkenness, not in sexual immorality and sensuality, not in quarreling and jealousy. But put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires. Romans 13:11-14
 
Dene Ward

When Silas came to stay all by himself for the first time, we were not sure how he would handle being away from Mommy and Daddy.  Especially since we were over two hours away, it would have been impossible to get him back home quickly if he were too homesick to last.  He was still three, barely, and, though he had stayed alone with us the night Judah was born, and the night after as well, that was at his own home and he slept in his own bed.

              We managed to keep him talking about happy things all the way home, deeper and deeper into the “dark, spooky woods” as he later called it.  It was after nine o’clock at night and, if you have never experienced it, there is nothing quite as dark as “country dark”—away from the streetlights, traffic lights, parking lot lights, and neon signs of the city.  Only once or twice did he stray into the dangerous territory of “Where will I sleep tonight?” in a pensive tone of voice.

              “We’re here!” we shouted as we pulled up to the gate, wondering aloud in excited voices if Chloe would come to meet us.  That kept him happy as we pulled into the carport and unfastened his booster seat straps.  Then, just as we walked toward the back porch, an owl screamed not fifty feet away, sounding every bit like a hysterical woman, followed by a “Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha” before finally settling into its usual “Who-hoo.” Silas was up those steps in a flash, plastered next to his grandfather’s leg and looking over his shoulders with eyes as big as Frisbees.  How could I tell in the dark?  Even in the dim starlight I could see white all the way around those big blue irises.

              “Uh-oh,” I thought.  “He will be terrified for the rest of the night.”  Luckily Grandma had made some ooey-gooey chocolate cookies and that took care of the problem.  That first impression, which could have ruined the entire stay, was fairly easily overcome, but I think it often is for children.  It’s the adults among us who hang on to them.

              And that brings me to today’s point.  We all know that old saying, “You only get one chance to make a first impression.”  I wish we could remember that all the time, not just when we are meeting someone we hope to impress for our own selfish interests.  Everyone who comes into contact with us, anywhere and any time, is a soul we might be able to save.  What if that first impression you make is the only impression you will ever make?

              I try to remind myself of that when I have a bad experience at a store or in a restaurant.  If I fly off the handle and act like a jerk, if I indulge in harsh words that suit my sense of an injustice having been done me, demanding “my rights” as a customer or patron, how will I ever persuade them to study the Bible with me?  Could I turn right around and hand them an invitation to church services, a gospel meeting, or a ladies Bible class?  Just exactly what kind of reaction do you think I would get?  Did you have a bad morning?  Our bad moods can be very expensive—they can cost someone else his soul.

              So remind yourself the next time you are caught in a tricky situation.  Paul told the Corinthians they should be willing to suffer wrong so the church wouldn’t be ridiculed by the litigious behavior among them (1 Cor 6:7).  What are we willing to suffer so the first impression we leave with someone, won’t guarantee that it will be the last?
 
Show yourself in all respects to be a model of good works, and in your teaching show integrity, dignity, and sound speech that cannot be condemned, so that an opponent may be put to shame, having nothing evil to say about us, Titus 2:7-8.
 
Dene Ward      

For twenty-two years on this rural five acres we didn’t have a carport.  For over two decades our vehicles were at the mercy of sub-tropical sun, thunder and lightning, hail, hurricanes, and even once an inch of snow.  Not a single time were the cars or trucks we owned damaged during that time.

              Eight years ago we had a slab poured and a carport erected.  “Whew!” we sighed with relief.  “Now we’re safe.”

              The next summer we were expecting guests and since the forecast called for a few showers, we moved the car out so the children would have a dry place to play.  Everyone left and we went inside to clean up.  When we came back outside to move the car back into the carport, a tree limb had fallen and put a dent in the trunk—a big one, and knocked off a half dollar size chunk of paint too.  All those years we were concerned and careful, nothing happened.  As soon as we thought we were safe, we weren’t.

              One who is wise is cautious and turns away from evil, but a fool is reckless and careless, Proverbs 14:16.  How careful are you out there in the world?  Do you heed the warnings about evil companions corrupting good morals, and the Devil as a roaring lion hunting his prey (1 Cor 15:53; 1 Pet 5:9)?  Or are you so confident in your own righteousness that you are careless, moving away from the safety of the “carport?”

              How many times has a parent sent his child out with all the usual cautions only to have that child sigh and roll his eyes and say something like, “Yes, yes, I know,” shaking his head as he goes out the door?  I don’t care how well your life has gone until now, how safe and smart you think you are, one bad decision can ruin everything for a lifetime.  Keep it under the carport!

              How many times has a happily married man, supremely confident of his self-control, seen someone attractive, flirted a little “just for fun,” and wound up doing exactly what he never thought he ever would?  No matter how strong you think you are, don’t dally with the Devil—keep it under the carport!

              How many times has a Christian stepped over the line “just this once,” “to see what I’m missing,” or “so I know what I’m up against,” meaning to return immediately to the fold, but never making that return trip because that little fling cost him his life?  Life isn’t certain—keep it under the carport!

              You think I’m crazy don’t you, just because a limb fell on my car.  The way of a fool is right in his own eyes, but a wise man listens to advice, Prov 12:15.

             And if coming from me isn’t good enough—and really, why should it be?—then how about God?  By the fear of the Lord one turns away from evil, Prov 16:6.  My flesh trembles for fear of you, and I am afraid of your judgments, Psa 119:120.  Job said if he had done anything wrong, then let my shoulder blade fall from my shoulder, and let my arm be broken from its socket. For I was in terror of calamity from God, and I could not have faced his majesty. 31:22-23. If no one else can do it, then let God put the fear in you—keep it under the carport!

              We wear seat belts every time because we never know when we will have an accident.  We get our inoculations because we never know when we might be exposed to a disease.  We have smoke alarms in our homes because we never know when a fire might break out.  We do all these things because it’s common sense.  So are the things God’s Word tells us about how to stay out of the clutches of sin and the Devil. 

              You’d better believe that from now on, my car will stay under the carport!  How about your soul?
 
For you yourselves are fully aware that the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night. While people are saying, "There is peace and security," then sudden destruction will come upon them as labor pains come upon a pregnant woman, and they will not escape. 1 Thessalonians 5:2-3
 
Dene Ward

Living in the country has meant adapting.  In many ways it has been good for me.  The city girl found out she could learn and change, even though change is a thing I have never liked.  I love routine.  Now, after 38 years, it isn’t change, it’s just a new routine, and that helps when I have had many more changes in the past few years, and see more coming.

              One of the things I learned quickly was to make sure I had everything I needed to get by for the week.  A sixty to eighty mile round trip, depending upon which side of town what I need is on and how many other places I have to stop as well, doesn’t happen more than once a week even if you did forget the bread or run out of milk.  You learn to do without. You don’t change your mind about the menu unless you already have on hand the things the preferred dish needs.  When an unexpected guest arrives and you want to offer a meal, you put another potato in the pot, double the biscuit recipe, and get out another package of frozen garden corn, and if you didn’t plan dessert that night, you put the home-canned jellies and jams on the table.  So far, no one has complained.
I have learned to be organized.  I do everything in one visit, and usually that coincides with a doctor appointment or a women’s Bible class.  I keep track of everything I run out of, or run low on, as the week progresses, and buy it all in the order that uses the least gas.  I keep staples well stocked.

              I have also learned that I don’t have to have everything I think I do.  The only store close to us is a tire store, about three miles down the country highway.  The man has been in business for 40 years.  Our children went to school with his, and somehow he has made a good living selling tires in the smallest county in Florida just outside a village that might have a population of 100 if you count the dogs.   But as far as shopping, it doesn’t do much for me.  You can’t try tires on, they don’t do much for the home décor, and window shopping is the pits.  So I don’t “shop.”

              Sometimes we become slaves to our culture.  We think we must wear certain things, go certain places and do things in a certain way because everyone else does.  We shop and buy because everyone does, not because we need it.  We go see the movies that “everyone” has seen.  We buy a cell phone because “everyone” has one nowadays—“it’s a necessity.”  We run down to the store every time we run out of something instead of carefully making a list of what we need and taking care of it in one, or at most two trips a week, wasting precious time and costing ourselves more money than we realize.  Everyone does, we say.  Maybe we should stop and think about that.

              Why?  First, because it never crosses our minds to be different than everyone.  Is it sinful?  Maybe not, but then why does something have to be sinful before I am willing to look at it and decide whether it is best for me and my situation?  Why am I so afraid to be different?  A Christian should have a mindset that is always looking at things in different ways than the rest of the world.  If I decide this is the best way to live (and not sinful), then fine, but I should, at the least, think about it.  Christians who always act without thinking will eventually do something wrong some time in the future. 

              Second, we are to be good stewards of everything God gives us, including time and money.  If we saved a little time, could we use it in service to God?  Could we offer help to someone in distress?  Would we have more time for visiting the sick and studying with neighbors?  If we saved those few dollars every week, could we give more to the Lord?  Could we help someone in need more often?  Could we be the ones who take a bag of groceries to a family in distress because that day we could buy for them instead of running to the store for yet something else we forgot?

              But we aren’t really talking about running down to the store here.  We’re talking about attitude and priorities—about doing the best we can for our Master in more than a haphazard way.  Paul says we are to “purpose,” or plan, our giving.  I have no doubt that doing so ensures a larger donation than merely waiting till the last minute to see what’s left in the bank or the wallet.  The same thing will be true if we plan our prayer time, study time, and service time.  Instead of running out of time for any of it, we will find ourselves making a habit of the things God expects of us.

              In a parable Jesus praised the steward who was “a faithful and wise manager,” who was always working, always serving, and able to get the appropriate things done at the appropriate time (Luke 12:42).  Those servants, he goes on to say, are always ready for the master’s return.  Are we ready, serving and working as many hours a day as possible as faithful stewards, or are we so disorganized that judgment day will find us at the checkout for the fifth time in a week, just to pick up a forgotten jug of milk?
 
As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God's varied grace: whoever speaks, as one who speaks oracles of God; whoever serves, as one who serves by the strength that God supplies--in order that in everything God may be glorified through Jesus Christ. To him belong glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen. (1Pe 4:10-11)
 
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

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 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