1. I come to the garden alone,
   While the dew is still on the roses,
   And the voice I hear falling on my ear
   The Son of God discloses.
   • Refrain:
     And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
     And He tells me I am His own;
     And the joy we share as we tarry there,
     None other has ever known.
2. He speaks, and the sound of His voice
   Is so sweet the birds hush their singing,
   And the melody that He gave to me
   Within my heart is ringing.
3. I’d stay in the garden with Him,
   Though the night around me be falling,
   But He bids me go; through the voice of woe
   His voice to me is calling.

 
This hymn was one of my Daddy's favorites, but I must admit that, as a child, I never really knew what it meant.  I finally figured out my own context, which we will get to later, but it is a far cry from the meaning the author intended.
      Charles Austin Miles was a pharmacist, and evidently a staunch Methodist.  One morning he was reading John 20, where Mary Magdalene comes upon the risen Lord.  In his own telling of how he came to write the song, he suddenly pictured himself as standing there with them watching their interaction as if he, too, were part of the action in a vision "sent from God."  Afterward he wrote the hymn, "by inspiration of the Holy Spirit," he believed.  I have my doubts about that and the vision, but he certainly wrote a beautiful song.
      When someone initially tried to have it included in the official Methodist hymnal the first time, it became apparent that people either loved it or hated it.  The haters made accusations that included "too erotic," which stunned me until I realized the problem. 
      As a musician we are taught the various historical eras of music—Ancient, Medieval, Renaissance, Baroque, Classical, Romantic, and then the Twentieth Century which has so many styles it is difficult to classify it, and the 21st?  It may take a few more years for it all to settle out.  Those same eras and characteristics were true of literature and art. 
     The Romantic Era began in the first few decades of the 19th century.  Beethoven was considered a transition composer between the Classical and the Romantic, if that helps.  A lot of people, who were used to the balanced, well-ordered, and impersonal Classical Era were a little shocked at the new music and poetry that was being written.  The poetry was extremely personal and it was full of lush description.  Look through the lyrics above.  "While the dew is still on the roses."  His voice is "so sweet the birds hush their singing."  That is Romantic poetry in a nutshell.  (Remember, we are talking Romantic as in a historic style, not as in romance novels.)
      So the song is about Mary and Jesus meeting together just after his resurrection.  "The joy we share as we tarry there none other has ever known," is a direct reference to the fact that Mary was the first to see him.  At that point in time, no other person had felt what she was feeling then.  If you have sung the newer hymn "Rabboni", this is the first version.
      One line might be a little inaccurate.  It seems fairly obvious that Mary and Jesus did not stay in that garden all day long, though the third verse mentions that "the night around them is falling."  But the point Mr. Miles makes is a valid one.  For Mary to stay there would have been contrary to the Lord's purpose in appearing to her.  She was to go tell the apostles.  She was the first witness.  And as a woman in that day and culture, the fact that the gospel writers chose to use a woman as a witness adds to the evidence of truth.  Women were considered unreliable witnesses.  If the whole story were made up, surely they would have chosen a witness other than a woman.
      So what had I been thinking before this as I sang this song?  I saw the garden as a metaphor for prayer.  When I pray, I am alone with the Lord in a beautiful place, but as much as I would like to stay, I have to leave him sooner or later.  Not that I can't speak to him whenever I want to during the day, as I often do, but that formal alone time has to end.
      I really don't see a problem with thinking of the song that way.  The Lord doesn't want us down on our knees cloistered away from the world all day long.  He wants us out in it, seeking the lost, serving others, and spreading his influence.  We have to go back to "the world of woe" eventually, but while we are there, isn't the experience just as wonderful as Mary's, spending time with our risen Lord, knowing his death has saved us and his resurrection has allowed us to someday spend that time with him forever?
 
But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb, and as she wept she stooped to look into the tomb. And she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had lain, one at the head and one at the feet. They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” Having said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” Jesus said to her, “Mary.” She turned and said to him in Aramaic, “Rabboni!” (which means Teacher).  (John 20:11-16).
 
Dene Ward

Keith has been keeping a journal since Lucas was born.  We always use a five subject spiral notebook, beginning a new page for every day, and come within a couple dozen pages of filling it completely.  That means we have stored up forty-three of those notebooks and are working on the forty-fourth.  Sometimes we pull one out and read it, usually laughing out loud here and there, occasionally cringing at something stupid we did or some ordeal we went through and can hardly imagine now. 
              Keith has made an index of "important things" in our lives, one manila cardstock page for each year, all clipped together.  If we need to know when we purchased something that has gone kaput, we can pull out half a dozen sheets from about the right time, and quickly skim them until we find it.  If we need to know when one or the other of us had a surgery or the last tetanus shot or any number of other things, five minutes will tell us all we need to know.
            At first, as a young mother who scarcely had time to think, and certainly not much time for myself, I hardly wrote in the things.  But as the boys grew up and no longer needed Mommy every few minutes, could dress themselves, bathe themselves, and entertain themselves, I began to add a page here and there—to get my side in, which is our inside joke about it.  For well over the past twenty years I, too, write in it every day.  The only problem I have is that now that we are together 24/7, if he tells everything we have done in a day, I have nothing left to write except, "Yep."
            This year we have had a bit of a problem.  Suddenly, usually on the edges of the page, the pen stops writing.  These are the same style and company's pens we have used for decades.  Occasionally I can pick up another pen and fill in the missing letters, but not every time.  It makes this usually pleasant chore a real aggravation. 
             The other night Keith left me to go study, carrying the same pen with him that had just refused to write not only on the edges of the page but smack in the middle, too.  He pulled out a sheet of cheap notebook paper to take notes as he studied and the pen wrote just fine anywhere on the page.  That made him think.  He came back to the journal and pulled it out.  We have always used Mead notebooks.  This was one we found on a super-cheap sale, a Stellar—which it evidently is not!  The problem was not the pen; the problem was the paper, some sort of finish that kept the ink from writing on it in scattered places.  Unfortunately, we bought two of the things.  That second one will go somewhere else, not as our next journal, and we will just have to suffer through the rest of the year with this one.
            For this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, declares the LORD: I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts. And I will be their God, and they shall be my people.  (Jer 31:33).
           In this time of the new covenant, God is writing his law upon our hearts.  He expects that our "obedience of faith" as Paul calls it twice in the book of Romans, will be "obedience from the heart" (Rom 6:17).  That heart will "delight to do his will" (Psa 37:31; Rom 7:22).  That kind of heart will "know righteousness" (Isa 51:7).  That kind of heart, pure and sincere even as it follows God's rules carefully, is what He demands from His people. 
            God writes on our hearts through the Holy Spirit (2 Cor 3:3).  As we fill ourselves with His Word, our hearts are being etched with a marker far more perfect than the ones we use.  God's writing implement works just fine.  If He is having trouble writing on your heart, it's not the pen that is at fault, it's your heart.
 
And you show that you are a letter from Christ delivered by us, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts  (2Cor 3:3).
 
Dene Ward

We didn't have much money when I was growing up.  It helped that my Daddy could and would tinker with anything in order to fix it.  Toasters, lawn mowers, electric frying pans, anything that had stopped working he would take apart and play with until he figured it out and got it going again.
            We once had a television set he had to tinker with.  In those days you had to get up and turn the knob yourself if you wanted to change the channel (there were only 3) or the volume.  Another knob took care of the horizontal hold, and I imagine most of you are saying, "The what?"  Finally, the horizontal hold just quit holding, but he figured out that if you whacked the top of the set firmly, it would hold again.  We usually whacked it at least once for every show we watched, but that always fixed the problem.
            As for that channel knob, something had slipped in the cogs and it would no longer settle directly on the correct inner slot so you could get that channel.  (Don't ask me to explain any of this, just trust me.)  The knob was round with two flat places that stood out from the round part, directly opposite each other.  That's how you turned it—by putting your thumb under one of those flat spots and the rest of your fingers over the other, pushing clockwise.
            Daddy whittled a wooden stick just long enough to wedge between one of those flat spots and the lip of the television cabinet over the channel changing knob.  First you put the knob in roughly the right place, then you wedged in the stick and pushed until you got the picture to come in.  Then you carefully let go, trying not to breathe too hard that close to the stick, backed away and sat down.  Then, and only then, could you get that channel.
            Yes, it was a lot of trouble to get the thing to work.  It was so much trouble that we were burglarized once and the thieves left that TV.  The little stick was sitting on top of it, so we know they tried it and just couldn't figure it out.  What thief would want a "high maintenance" TV when the next house probably had one that worked easily?
             So why not just buy a new TV?  Did I mention the money problem?  As long as something worked, we could not afford to replace it.  Only when something broke beyond repair, and something that we really needed, did we scrape together the money to replace it, and a television was not a "necessity."
            I think we've had a high maintenance lawn mower in our married life, one that had to be started just so, or stopped just so and had to be held just so or it would quit altogether.  Many people would have just gone out and bought another, but did I mention the money problem?  We had it, too.
            I have known some women who bragged about being "high maintenance women."  For the life of me I cannot understand why that is something to brag about.  You would think they would be afraid their husbands might just go out and get a new one.  Unless maybe there are money problems.
            And then there are the high maintenance Christians, something else I would never brag about.  You know who they are.  They want attention about anything and everything in their lives, even if others have similar or worse problems.  Everyone is supposed to visit when they are sick or even "just because."  If they don't get the attention they think they deserve, they will simply stop attending the worship services and it's all our fault for not taking care of them.  They take offense easily and the preacher has to kowtow to their whims to get them back.  The elders are supposed to listen to them more than anyone else, and if they don't, they "just might leave."  When they do finally do something, they expect lavish praise from the pulpit, the bulletin, and the grapevine or the whole church is labeled "ungrateful hypocrites."  If they need a rebuke, everyone walks on eggshells around them trying to figure out a way that won't upset them.
            Seems to me that God doesn't have the money problems we have always had.  And it isn't about replacement either.  God does not need any of us. He bestows His blessings, including salvation, out of love and grace, not because we deserve it.  Instead of self-absorption, God wants self-denial and self-control.  If we know what's good for us we will be someone who is much easier to get along with and who will work well for Him without needing any of the tinkering nonsense we always had to do with our television. I would think we would all be so grateful to Him and so afraid of hell that none of us would even court the idea of being a "high maintenance" Christian.
            Or maybe that high maintenance Christian just needs God to give him a good whack once in a while.
 
Wherefore, brethren, give the more diligence to make your calling and election sure: for if you do these things, you shall never stumble: for thus shall be richly supplied unto you the entrance into the eternal kingdom of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.  (2Pet 1:10-11).
 
Dene Ward

We noticed it on Friday night.  The fridge temperature was up to 43 from the usual 38 we aim at.  We always keep a thermometer in it just so we can monitor these things, but we had been in and out of it all day, gradually adding several pounds of produce from the garden, most of it still warm from a Florida sun even after a good rinse in cool tap water.  We decided that must be the problem.

The next morning, after a good 12 hours without opening the door, the fridge temperature was up to 48.  Well, that's not good, we thought, and called our friendly appliance repairman who also happens to be a brother.  We told him it was not an emergency, so don't come out on a weekend, but was there something we could check and maybe fix ourselves?  Not really, as it turns out, so we loaded it with ice blocks in an effort to use it as one big cooler until we could have it seen to. 

On Sunday morning, the temperature was up to 56.  Since, during the lockdown, we are having our own church services with one of our other members, we did so as usual, and then called the repairman again.  He was perfectly happy to come check things out, and even brought his family so we could chat while he and Keith worked on the fridge.  By the time he arrived, after we had both had our "in-home family services," the temperature was up to 68 inside the refrigerator.  Considering the huge blocks of ice we had placed in it to obviously no avail, we expected this to be a really huge, and expensive, problem. Maybe even a total replacement problem.

It only took about five minutes to discover what was wrong.  He looked at Keith and said, "Your thermometer says it's 68 in here.  Mine, even with me standing here with the door wide open, says it's 42."  The refrigerator wasn't broken; the thermometer was.  Whew!  Cheap fix, even if a little embarrassing.

It's easy to look good when you measure yourself against the world.  The more I read about the ancient Romans, the more frightened I become for our country's sake.  Sometimes you can't tell which country is being described—them or us.  Considering what God did to them, I worry what might happen here.

You can look pretty good when you measure yourself against your neighbors, too.  Many are decent people, but the majority would not have any qualms about a little cheating on their taxes, or telling "little white lies," or using the common expletives we hear all around us.  You, I hope, would know better and do better.

And if you are really careful about whom you choose, you can even look good compared to some of your brethren.  We are all fighting battles, but some fight a lot harder than others who have just decided "that's how I am," and let it go.  Yes, when you measure yourself against someone with that attitude, you will probably come out on top.

But God expects us to use His standard.  We are called to follow a much worthier calling and a much higher example than the people around us.  For God called you to do good, even if it means suffering, just as Christ suffered for you. He is your example, and you must follow in his steps. He never sinned, nor ever deceived anyone. He did not retaliate when he was insulted, nor threaten revenge when he suffered. He left his case in the hands of God, who always judges fairly. (1Pet 2:21-23).

God will judge you fairly too, based on His standard, not the one you might be using now.  You might wind up thinking you are just fine, when the reality is far different.
 
Not that we dare to classify or compare ourselves with some of those who are commending themselves. But when they measure themselves by one another and compare themselves with one another, they are without understanding.  (2Cor 10:12)
 
Dene Ward

Eduard Friedrich Poeppig was born July 16, 1798 in Plauen, Germany.  He studied and qualified as a physician by 1822, but evidently that is not where his heart lay.  Immediately after graduation he made a 10 year expedition to the Americas, spending several years in Cuba, Philadelphia, and South America.  He was only the third European to travel the entire length of the Amazon River.
             His trip was financed by several friends in return for plant specimens he discovered in each of the areas he visited.  In all he sent back or took home over 17,000 of them.  When he returned to Germany he became the Zoology professor at the University of Leipzig for the remainder of his life.
            One of the plants he discovered on a hillside in Chile was the amaryllis hippeastrum, one of the most beautiful plants in the world.  I have well over a dozen now, in a bed begun after a piano student gave me one for Christmas one year.  The deep solid red is probably the most common, but I have that and everything from pale pink and bright apricot, to stripes of white on red, pink, and apricot; pink throats on a pristine white, or white throats on deep orange or red as well.  They are gorgeous, but sometimes they don’t bloom, and that leaves me disappointed, usually with half the bulbs every year.  So I decided to find out what keeps amaryllises from blooming to see if I could remedy the problem.  Here is what I discovered and what I extrapolated.
            Amaryllises will not bloom in full shade.  They may not need full sun, especially in this sub-tropical environment, but they need enough light to draw that big thick stem up out of the bulb and through the soil and mulch.
            The New Testament tells us we need the Light, too.  John says that as long as we walk in the light, we won’t stumble (1 John 2:9-11).  It variously calls us sons of light and children of light; it says we are “of the day not the night.”  And because we have that Light and live in it, we then become “the light of the world.”  Certainly a Christian who does not live in the light will never bloom.
            Amaryllises need sufficient nutrients.  Just as a larger animal needs more food, this large flower needs good soil, and ample food and water.  Many of my amaryllis bulbs were as big as softballs when they came out of the package, and many of the blooms are broader across than some of Keith’s garden cantaloupes.  Especially in this poor sandy soil, we must be sure to supply the proper nutrition if we want anything to come out of it.
            We need nutrition too.  Peter tells us to “long for the pure spiritual milk that by it we may grow up into salvation” 1 Pet 2:2.  How can we do that if we neglect all the feeding opportunities our shepherds have offered us?  How can we do it when we shun the healthy spiritual food and feast on the junk in this life?  I have seen many brothers and sisters go hog wild with the organic, all-natural, non-preservative craze when taking care of their physical bodies, yet starve their spirits with skimpy servings and junk food.  No wonder their blooms are so scarce and puny.
            This might be surprising, but not allowing them to rest will also keep amaryllises from blooming.  You can force blooms at certain times of the year, but then you must prune both the stem and leaves and water them prodigiously until they go dormant.  Then leave them alone! 
            God did not rest on the seventh day because He was tired.  He rested because He was finished, but in that rest he also ordained a day of rest for His people.  Do you understand what that means?  In that ancient time, the common people lived hand to mouth and they worked sunup till sundown seven days a week just to survive.  But not God’s people.  As long as they observed their commanded Sabbath, He made sure they had plenty.  God knows what you need and sometimes you need to rest.  It may no longer be a religious observance, but it is certainly a matter of health.  And rest doesn’t mean going on a vacation that leaves you more worn out than rested.  It means a day with no schedule, no stressful situations, nothing hanging over your head that “just has to be done.”  Spend some time with your family—just one full day a week, any day—rest your body and your mind, and talk of the blessings God has given you all, especially the time you have to be together because He has taken such good care of you.
            And this last one really surprised me.  If you take your amaryllis bulbs out of the ground and store them in the refrigerator, you should not store them with apples.  Apples will make an amaryllis bulb sterile, or so I have been told.  Apples?  Apples are good things, right?  But even things that look good can make a plant sterile and unproductive it turns out. 
            Haven’t you seen the same thing happen to Christians?  They become so involved in things of this world, good things, that there is no time left for producing the fruit God wants from us.  Or they hang around with people who are not their spiritual brothers and sisters to the point that what matters most to those people becomes what matters most to them.  Other people, people who do not understand that we are to encourage one another and build one another up spiritually, who care nothing for the spiritual warfare we are involved in, who would, in fact, think you are nuts to even talk about such a thing, can hinder your productivity for the Lord.
            So take a look at your amaryllises today if you have them.  Think about the things that affect those gorgeous blooms.  See if any of them are affecting you too.
 
And let our people learn to devote themselves to good works, so as to help cases of urgent need, and not be unfruitful, Titus 3:14.
 
Dene Ward
 

A young lady recently asked me how she could serve her elderly sisters in the Lord.  Bless her heart, I thought.  Here is someone who, despite her youth (mid-20s), really understands how God feels about his aged children.
            You shall stand up before the gray head and honor the face of an old man, and you shall fear your God: I am the LORD  (Lev 19:32).
            Since the government now considers me "elderly," you would think I have a lot of answers to give her.  The thing is, while I may move slower, wear out faster, and hurt more, I really don't feel "elderly."  When you start talking about the elderly, I always think you are talking about someone else.  But I did care for my mother until her death at 91, and I know very well what she liked and needed.
            My mother liked to "go."  She couldn't handle long rides, but she loved eating lunch out after a short shopping trip or a visit to the doctor.  She especially loved dinner at our house.  When we picked her up, she would gaze out the car window as if she had never been anywhere in her life, even if it was the same old rural highway, along the same old fields and forests to my house.  A couple of hours, and sometimes not that much, was about all she could handle, especially the last year, but her mood lifted and she slept better that night just from the added activity.
            Her next favorite things were visits.  Visits break up the monotony of the day and keep one day from blending into the next.  If you don't know what to talk about when you visit, stop worrying.  Those older people have lived lives just as busy and exciting as yours.  Just ask a question or two, then sit back and let them talk.
            We spent some time with an elderly lady at church, and were happy to attend her ninetieth birthday party.  I had never known anyone but the gray-haired, no bigger than a minute lady who wore glasses every bit as thick as the ones I had as a child.  She seldom talked at church, but would give you a beautiful smile if you simply said hello.  At her party, her children had put out some old photos and there on the table was a petite, and gorgeous, brunette in her 20s. 
            "Is that you?" I asked. 
         "Oh yes," she said.  "That was when I toured Europe with the USO, entertaining the troops during World War II."  I nearly choked on my birthday cake.  I had had no idea.
            In my mother's last years I heard stories I would have never known if we had not moved her close to us and had those years together.  Things she had never spoken about before, including her conversion, hers and Daddy's honeymoon, and stories of her childhood with a Grandmother who died before I was born.  Older people love to reminisce.  Those memories are about all they have.  Go visit and give them an outlet.  You will be amazed at what you hear. Question after question will come to you with no trouble at all, and you will make them feel important again.
           And that's what they want more than anything else—to feel like they matter to someone.  No one wants to feel like a burden, like someone to be tolerated and a duty to be performed.  They need to feel like they still have something to offer, perhaps some wise advice or just an entertaining story.  That's what you can give them with hardly any effort at all.
           Most of you will become one of those elderly people one day.  You will understand then, but you will be stuck right where they are now, hoping someone realizes that they used to be an interesting person too.  Set the example for others now so that you don't wind up sitting in your rocker, day after lonely day, watching the world pass by, thinking that you don't matter to anyone any longer.
 
​Gray hair is a crown of glory; it is gained in a righteous life  (Prov 16:31).
 
Dene Ward

"Before “Friends,” Harry Pickup Jr. used to grab a couple of the talented students and go somewhere to sing & play to promote Florida College. Dene was sometimes one of those. Then the Public Relations department formed a permanent group that toured just like the Chorus always had. They adopted the name, “Friends” from a song popular at the time (lyrics in the title above)  that continues to voice our feelings about what makes FC special.

That got me to thinking, What is a friend? Sometimes people say they have a lot of friends, I wonder whether they have ever considered the various kinds of friends. A wise man once said that a man is lucky to have two or three friends in a lifetime.

In the sense of the Proverb (18:24, “There is a friend that sticks closer than a brother,”) that is probably true. That Jonathan and David trust, loyalty, and die-for-you commitment comes seldom. The one you know who would drop everything and come to your cry, means everything.

But there are other true friends. People that you can pick up with after a decade or more separation and feel as at-home with as yesterday; we have a few more of those. People we remember fondly and long for, though we may not expect to see them again this side of heaven. People that you can talk about most anything with, or just sit quietly and be comfortable.

Then there are the friends that put their feet under your table and you put yours under theirs more than once. Breaking bread together forms a bond.

“Workplace acquaintances” one called them. You may not share anything with them anywhere else and even feel a bit awkward if you meet them elsewhere, but you share personal things and help one another on the job. Or, these may be PTA friends, or golfing buddies, or Rotary or Music club.

How many other types of friends are there?

Which kind do you mean when you sing, “I’ll be a Friend to Jesus?”
 
 
This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. ​Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you. ​No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you.  (John 15:12-15).
 
Keith Ward

My big flower bed on the south side of the shed attracts butterflies by the score.  Every day I see both white and yellow sulfurs, tiny blue hairstreaks, huge brown and yellow swallowtails, and glorious orange monarchs and viceroys flitting from bloom to bloom.  Sometimes it’s hard to tell where the bloom stops and the butterfly begins amid all those big yellow black-eyed Susans, multicolored zinnias, and purple petunias. 
            But have you ever watched a butterfly?  If you and I decided to go somewhere the way a butterfly goes, it would take all day to get there.  We have a saying: “as the crow flies,” meaning a straight line course.  A butterfly couldn’t fly a straight line no matter how hard it tried—it would always fail the state trooper’s sobriety test.
            Some of us live our spiritual lives like butterflies.  We seem to think that waking up in the morning and allowing life to just “happen” is the way to go.  No wonder we don’t grow.  No wonder we fail again and again at the same temptations.  No wonder we don’t know more about the Word of God this year than last, and no wonder we can’t stand the trials of faith.
            Some folks think that going to church is the plan.  That’s why their neighbors would be surprised to find out they are Christians—Sunday is their only day of service.  Others refuse to acknowledge any weakness they need to work on.  It rankles their pride to admit they need to improve on anything, and because they won’t admit anything specific, they never do improve. 
            Some folks make their life decisions with no consideration at all for their spiritual health, or the good of the kingdom.  The stuff of this life matters the most, and only after that do they give the spiritual a thought, if at all, and it is to be dismissed if it means anything untoward for their physical comfort, convenience, status, or wealth. 
            The only plan they have for their children is their physical welfare—how they will do in school, where they will go to college, what career they will pursue.  They must get their schoolwork, but their parents don’t even know what they are studying in Bible classes, much less make sure they get their lessons.  It’s too much trouble to take them to spiritual gatherings of other young Christians.  And have you seen how much those camps cost?!  Probably less than a year’s worth of cell phone service and much less than the car they buy those same kids. 
            Where is the plan for this family’s spiritual growth?  Where is their devotion to a God they claim as Lord?  If their children do end up faithful, it will be in spite of these parents, not because of them.
            God expects us to have a plan.  The writer of the seventeenth psalm had one.  “I have purposed that my mouth will not transgress,” he says in verse 3, and then later, “I have avoided the ways of the violent, my steps have held fast to your paths,” (4b,5a).  He made a vow and he kept it.  He mapped his life out to stay away from evil and on the road to his Father.
            How are you doing as you fly through life—and it does fly, people!  Are you flitting here and there, around one bush and over another, out of the flower bed entirely once in awhile, then back in for a quick sip of nectar before heading off in whichever direction the wind blows?  Or do you have a plan, a map to get you past the pitfalls with as little danger as possible, to the necessary stops for revival and refreshing, but then straight back on the road to your next life?
            Do you know what the term social butterfly means?  It’s someone who flits from group to group.  Perhaps not so much now, but originally the term was one of ridicule.  I wonder what God would think of a spiritual butterfly who has no focus on the spiritual things of this life, but flits from one thing to other and always on a carnal whim rather than a spiritual one.  I wonder if He would decide that butterfly wouldn’t be able to appreciate an eternity of spiritual things either.

…And [Barnabas] exhorted them all to remain faithful to the Lord with steadfast purpose, for he was a good man, full of the Holy Spirit and of faith...  Acts 11:23,24.
 
Dene Ward

I understand that the term “Southernism” refers to a trait of language or behavior that is characteristic of the South or Southerners.  I have a cookbook, Cooking Across the South compiled by Lillian Marshall, which extrapolates that definition to include certain Southern recipes, particularly older recipes.  She includes in that list things like hominy, frocking, poke sallet, and tomato gravy.  If you are from north of the Mason-Dixon Line, I am sure you are scratching your head at some of those things, wondering just what in the world they are besides strange.
            In the same vein, I wondered if we could stretch that idea to something we might call “Christianisms,” things a Christian would do that might seem peculiar to someone who isn’t one.  Like never using what the world now calls “colorful language;” like remaining calm and civil when someone mistreats you, doing, in fact, something nice for them; like not cheating on your taxes; like giving back the change that a cashier overpays you; like paying attention to the speed limit and other laws of the land even if there is not a trooper behind you; like cooking or cleaning house for an invalid; like making time for the worship on Sunday morning and arriving at the ball game late even if those tickets did cost a small fortune; like being careful of the clothing you choose to wear; like choosing not to see certain movies or watch certain television shows; like thinking that spending time with other Christians is far more enjoyable than things like “clubbing;” —these are my idea of Christianisms.  I am sure you could add more to the list.
            In the cookbook, I must admit, are many things I have never heard of, despite being a born and bred Southerner—frocking, for one.  You see I came along at a time when the South was starting to change, especially my part of it.  Disney changed everything.  Orlando used to be a one-horse town instead of the metropolis it has become.  I actually learned how to drive in Tampa on what is now I-275.  Can you imagine letting a first timer do that?  My part of the South has become less “southern” as the years have passed.  So, while I had roots in the traditions of the Deep South, I have lost familiarity with many of them.
            Wouldn’t it be a shame if we got to that point with “Christianisms?”  When you read that list I made, did you stop somewhere along the line and say, “Huh? Why would anyone do that?”  Have we allowed the “worldisms” to take the place of concepts and behaviors that ought to be second nature to us?  Can we even compose a list of things that make us different or have we become assimilated?
            Try making a list of the “Christianisms” in your life today.  Make sure you can come up with some, and if not, maybe it’s time to make a few changes.
 
Do all things without grumbling or questioning, that you may be blameless and innocent,  children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation,  among whom you shine as lights in the world, holding fast to the word of life…Phil 2:14-16a.
 
Dene Ward

Have you ever seen a catbird take a bath?  I'll take that as a no, the looks I am imagining on your faces, that is.
            First let me introduce you.  He's a sleek, handsome fellow, slate gray, about 8 or 9 inches long.  A black cap perches on the crown of his head and down the back of his head, almost like a cropped mane.  His long tail has a rusty spot beneath it.  His lady friend looks the same, and they both mew like a cat, hence, the name.
            When this fellow decides he needs a bath, he plops himself into one of the water pans I put on top of the feeder posts.  Because of his size, he does better in the larger one, but I have also seen him in the one that is a good 3 inches smaller in diameter.  As large as he is, it's a wonder he doesn't fall out.  At first, he gives a little splash, then stops and looks around.  Then another splash.  Then another.  Finally, he begins in earnest, splashing so hard that the birds beneath him on the feeder get a shower while they eat.  Any sitting on the edge of the water pan run for cover.  Still he splashes.  As you watch from my seat in the house, it becomes impossible to see the bird for the amount of water splashing around him, and I know I will have to refill the pans immediately after he leaves.
            And then he stops.  You can almost see his little heart beating in that dark gray chest as he pants in recovery.  And he is soaking wet.  His feathers are plastered and dark against him, his black cap mussed and plastered as well.  When this bird has finished bathing, there is no doubt at all what he has been doing.  He is as wet as if he had immersed himself, even though the water was only a couple inches deep.
            That is exactly the way we need to immerse ourselves in our Christianity.  Going to church once a week won't do it.  Paying lip service to God won't do it.  We are expected to fill up on the Word every chance we get, talk about it, think about, study it, and espouse it when we can.  It should be second nature to mention God in our lives no matter who we are talking to.  We should be using our assemblies and other church functions as our excuse to miss worldly events, not the other way around.  In fact, we should be looking for other occasions to get together with Christians to study together and encourage one another.  That's what it means to be a disciple of Christ and a servant of the Lord.  That is the very definition of those words.  I should be so immersed in the Lord and His Word that I look as wet as a catbird to my friends, neighbors, and co-workers.  There should be no question in their minds exactly who I am because I not only claim it, I live it.  Always.
            Once upon a time you were immersed for the remission of your sins.  Now it's time for another immersion.  Do you need a bath today?
 
I have asked one thing from the LORD; it is what I desire: to dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, gazing on the beauty of the LORD and seeking Him in His temple.  (Ps 27:4).
 
Dene Ward