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

Over to the east side of the playing field, that portion of our property that we have kept open for baseball games, football passes, croquet set-ups and the like, stands a homemade trellis covered with climbing roses.  We have the old traditional deep red Climbing Blaze, a red-orange Blaze of Glory with blooms half again the size of the Blaze, and a yellow one whose name I have forgotten.  We picked it up at the nursery section of a home improvement store solely because its blooms were the largest I had ever seen on a climber, at least three times the size of the Blaze.
              About that yellow one—the blooms may be huge, but they are few and far between.  I doubt we get more than a dozen a year.  And they are here and gone in a flash.  You will see a bud one day, a beautiful rose the second, an overblown flower the third, and an empty limb the fourth.  Then you might wait two weeks for the next one.  Rarely will we have two yellow blooms at the same time.
              However, the first winter, Keith did not prune it exactly right, and one morning the following spring we found both a yellow and a red bloom on the same bush.  Because of his "poor" pruning job, the rootstock had put out limbs and they had bloomed too.  Those were almost the same red as the Climbing Blaze, but just a bit smaller.  So now we have four colors on three plants, ranging in size from a half dollar to a teacup.  Needless to say, we have not corrected our "mistake."
              This past April those rootstock limbs really took off.  Each five or six foot arc was covered with buds all down its length, opening at intervals so that we had a huge length of red blooms for weeks.  And these little guys last awhile—no here today, gone tomorrow for them.
              From a few feet away all you see is red, but when you step closer you begin to see the individual blooms.  Some are still buds, dark green with a tiny line of red where it will eventually open.  Some have just begun to do so, the green sepal having fallen back, but the red still folded into itself.  Some are the perfect rose, just barely open into a full bloom with intricate folds of red velvet.  Then you see the older blooms, open as wide as possible, yellow pollen showing in the middle, surrounded by a paler, almost white ring.
              Even at the same stage the blooms show differences.  Some are larger, some smaller.  Some have more petals, others fewer.  Some have petals with black "lace" around the edges—perhaps a blight of some kind.  Some are slightly malformed, opening only on one side while the other never opens at all.  But every one of them does what a rose is supposed to do, what God made it for—blooming to the best of its ability.
              That's all God expects of us, too.  In whatever condition you are, serve Him the best you can.  Even that may change due to health or age, but that doesn't give you a pass.  Some of the people who have helped me the most were the older brothers and sisters I visited, hoping to encourage them, and yet found myself encouraged as much or more by them.  People who deal with pain every day, who have trials and ordeals most of us have only read about and come through it with their faith intact and an optimistic view of their destiny, which they pass on to others through sheer enthusiasm.  They are the greatest proof that there is absolutely no excuse for sitting idle in God's kingdom.
              "But I am doing my best," so many will say to assuage their guilty feelings.  Fine.  Just understand this:  God is the one who decides what your best is, not you.  Just as his lord judged harshly the one talent man who buried his in the ground because the risks otherwise scared him, our Lord will judge harshly the one who gave up just because things got tough. 
              The Lord's kingdom is a climbing rose covered with bloom after bloom.  None of them is perfect and some look far better than others in men's eyes, but in God's eyes, the bud that blooms its head off regardless its condition, is the most beautiful one of all.
 
As for man, his days are like grass; he flourishes like a flower of the field; for the wind passes over it, and it is gone, and its place knows it no more. But the steadfast love of the LORD is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear him, and his righteousness to children's children,  (Ps 103:15-17).

Dene Ward

We have had a cat more often than not in the past twenty years.  All of them were pretty good about doing their work, as most barn cats are—it comes naturally to them to keep the rodents out of the feed sacks.  But because they are outdoor cats, they do not have quite the same affinity for human contact as house cats.  In fact, it seems that the less they have to do with us, the better they do their job.
            So when it comes time to take this sort of cat to the vet for its shots and check-ups, the process is a real adventure.  I remember once, when we put the cat in a box we had carefully aerated, drove 20 miles to the vet, opened the box and there was no cat.  We drove back home and found her sitting on the steps, licking her paws, and looking at us with a look of disdain.  “Where have you been?” she seemed to be saying with a smirk.  We still don’t know how she got out.  Her name was Jezebel.  Maybe that explains it.
            When we got Jasper we invested in a carrier.  The first time I used it, I discovered that this was still not going to be easy.  I sat on the porch and called him.  He inched his way forward and I just held out my hand until he finally relaxed and let me pet him.  After a minute or so, I picked him up and tried to put him in the crate. Immediately, all four sets of claws sprang out and grasped the edges of the opening.  It looked like a cartoon as I tried pushing him in while he hung on to the doorframe for dear life.  No way was this cat going in there willingly.
            Then I got smart, I thought, and put some food in the carrier.  Jasper smelled it immediately, and stuck his head inside.  I waited patiently as more and more of him disappeared into the box, then quickly shut the door; but somehow in that tiny space, he managed to turn around and slip out before I could get the clasp fastened. 
            By then, he was getting suspicious.  He was too leery to even come near me, so I waited a bit.  About a half hour later I grabbed a towel and laid it on the porch floor next to me.  By then, he was feeling generous again and sauntered up to me for a scratch.  After a few minutes, he lay next to me on the towel.  With a quick motion, I flipped the towel over his whole body and dumped him unceremoniously into the upended carrier,  The little bit of time it took for him to get his claws out of the towel gave me enough time to shut the door without him escaping.  Finally we went to the vet.
            Wouldn’t you know it, when we got to the vet, he wouldn’t come out of the carrier?  The vet had to dump him out.  And when she was finished with him and let him go, he scrambled back in as fast as he could.  Little stinker.
            In spite of his unwillingness to go to the vet, it kept him healthy.  The shots still worked, even though he really didn’t want them.  It doesn’t work that way with righteousness.  You can do things that look like righteousness all day long, but if you are doing them from a bad heart, they won’t do a thing for your soul.
            We seem to have a mistaken idea about the Old Law, that all they had to do were “right things,” and that their hearts did not matter.  Yet over and over you find instances where the heart most certainly did matter.  Take from among you an offering unto Jehovah; whosoever is of a willing heart, let him bring it, Ex 35:5.  That is just one example among many.
            Doesn’t it mean more to you that Lord offered himself for us willingly?  No one takes [my life] away from me, but I lay it down of myself. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it again. John 10:18.  How much would it mean in terms of love if he had done it because he was forced to? 
            That is how God looks at us too.  How much more does it mean to you when your child brings you a wildflower he picked in the field “just because” than when he sends that expensive arrangement on Mother’s Day, a day when the world practically forces it on him?  A buttercup on a Tuesday is far superior to a dozen roses the second Sunday in May.
            God will not force us to obey him, much less love him.  He has never accepted the letter of the law without the heart.
 
And you, Solomon my son, know the God of your father and serve him with a whole heart and with a willing mind, for the LORD searches all hearts and understands every plan and thought.  If you seek him, he will be found by you, but if you forsake him, he will cast you off forever, 1 Chron 28:9.
 
Dene Ward

“Who can deny Robert Gundry’s assertion that the evangelical enterprise has become worldly, that materialism grips the church, that pleasure-seeking dominates us, that evangelicals watch sensuality and violence like everyone else, that immodesty is de jure, that voyeurism and pornography and sexual laxity and divorce are on the rise, and that we, like Lot, could find that Sodom has been born anew in our own homes. God help us if while decrying sin, we are sprinting headlong after it. We must lay this to heart: A worldly church cannot and will not reach the world. The church must be distinct from the world to reach the world.  We must set ourselves apart to God if we hope to reach the world.”
Hughes, R. Kent. Set Apart: Calling a Worldly Church to a Godly Life. Crossway. Kindle Edition.

"For the time that is past suffices for doing what the Gentiles want to do, living in sensuality, passions, drunkenness, orgies, drinking parties, and lawless idolatry. With respect to this they are surprised when you do not join them in the same flood of debauchery, and they malign you; but they will give account to him who is ready to judge the living and the dead. For this is why the gospel was preached even to those who are dead, that though judged in the flesh the way people are, they might live in the spirit the way God does. " (1Pet 4:3-6).

Our late winter/early spring gardening chores include pruning.  Pruning is serious business.  If you do it at the wrong time and in the wrong way, you can kill a plant.  But correct pruning encourages healthy growth, more flowering, heavier fruit yields, and in general, better looking plants.  Correct pruning can also scare you to death.
              If Keith had not had an experienced friend show him how to prune the grapes, he would never have done it correctly.  Light pruning does not promote fruiting on grape vines.  It takes a heavy-handed pruner, one who knows exactly how far down which vines to cut—and it is much farther than you would ever expect—to make vines that in the late summer provide both greater quantity and quality of grapes. 
              Roses also benefit from good pruning.  Every January or February (remember that we are talking here in Florida before you follow this to the letter) you should cut off 1/3 to ½ of the mature canes, plus all dead or dying branches, as well as those that cross or stray out of the general shape of the bush.  That is how you get more flowers and larger blooms, and healthier, prettier bushes altogether.
              God believes in pruning too.  John 15 is full of the imagery of pruning grape vines, cutting off those that no longer produce and throwing them into the fire, which just happens to be where we throw all our prunings as well.  God has done a lot of pruning throughout history.
              The wilderness wandering was nothing but one big pruning exercise.  All the faithless, those men of war responsible for the decision not to take the land, had to die, and a new generation be prepared.  Do you realize that if you only count those men, on average throughout those forty years, 40 men died every day?  That does not count the people who died of accident, disease and childbirth, and the women and priests who simply died of old age.  Every morning the first thing on one’s mind must have been, “Who died yesterday?”  Those people must have done nothing but bury the dead every single day for forty years.  No wonder they moved so often.
              Then there was the Babylonian captivity.  Ezekiel worked for seventy years preparing the next generation to return to the land as a righteous remnant while the older one died off.  Pruning made them better, stronger, and more able to endure those months of rebuilding, and the years that followed.
              And what else was it but pruning that made God cut off some branches (Jews) and graft in others (Gentiles)?  They were broken off because of their unbelief, Paul says in Rom 11:20, and then goes on to say that if God will prune the natural branches, he will certainly prune those that had been grafted in if their faith fails.
              God still prunes.  We tend to call it by other metaphors these days—refining our faith as gold, Peter says in one of those passages.  “Discipline” the Hebrew writer calls it, adding that the Lord only chastens those he loves.  But all these figures mean the same thing.  Pruning can be painful.  The best pruning shears are the sharp ones, for the wound will heal more quickly the cleaner the cut. 
              We carry a lot of deadwood on us that God has to whittle away through the trials and experiences of life, and with our own growth in the knowledge of the Word as we learn what is and is not acceptable to God.  It is up to us to use that pruning, shedding the dead wood and cultivating new growth, bearing more fruit, higher quality fruit, and more beautiful blooms.  If I am not growing, I can expect nothing more than my whole vine to be cut off and cast into the fire. 
              We want to be that productive grape vine with fruit so heavy and juicy we almost break from the sheer weight of it.  We want to be the rose that brings the oohs and aahs, whose perfume wafts on the breeze to all those around us.  We must submit to the pruning of the Master Gardener, glorying in His work in us, no matter how painful, so that we can “prove to be his disciples,” John 15:8, faithful to the end.
 
Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit, John 15:2.
 
Dene Ward