This is Part 4 of the Monday series "Whoso Findeth a Wife."

God saw a need and said, “It is not good that man should be alone; I will make a help meet for him” (Gen 2:18).  Notice, that is two words—a help meet, “meet” being the adjective of the word “help.”  Our modern dictionaries put them together as helpmeet or helpmate and define it as “wife.”  According to Mr. Webster, every married woman is a “helpmeet,” but the Bible usage involves a distinction, specifying what kind of help the woman is to be—a meet help, or as some versions read, “a helper suitable” to the man.

In one sense woman is suitable to man by her very natures, this is, because he “made them male and female” (Matt 19:4).  God made man and woman to complement one another in an emotional way as well.  Man is the idealist who sets the lofty goals; woman is the pragmatist who pulls them down to something within reach and organizes the process of getting there.  Man is the strong one who goes out to deal with the world; woman is the softer one who soothes his wounds.  Man is the cynic who, as such, is able to protect his family from those who might take advantage of them; woman is the more merciful one, who sometimes allows it to excuse faults or wrongs that need punishing.  Together they temper one another and are more than they could ever be apart. 

But in another real sense, not every woman is suitable to every man.  We would do well to teach our children this fact.  They grow up believing in “happily ever after” and “love conquers all,” but after years of picking up muddy boots and strewn clothes, listening to foul language or crude habits, and waking up at 2 am with no idea where he is, she begins to wonder if her love has enough ammunition left to conquer anything else.  We must teach them to be more objective—more cold-blooded—about choosing a mate.

What about his chosen career?  It takes a completely different kind of woman to be a doctor’s wife than to be a farmer’s wife; to be a policeman’s wife than to be a small business owner’s wife.  Each job carries demands on the man that will affect his family.  Sometimes he will be called away at a moment’s notice.  Sometimes he will be in danger.  Sometimes he will need to keep things confidential.  Sometimes she may need to pitch in and work right next to him.  Can you handle it?  If you haven’t thought of these things before your marriage, if you haven’t discussed the problems that could arise, you have been short-sighted at best and foolish at worst.

But once a woman has taken the plunge, if she is not suited to him, it becomes her duty to make herself suitable to her man, even if it means changing lifelong habits and ideas.   When I recognize a problem, it becomes my responsibility to try to solve it whether anyone else helps or not (Rom 2:6).  If I see my marriage faltering because of our differences, I need to do everything I can to repair the situation.  And most men are not as bad as some women would have us believe.  When he sees such obvious efforts on his wife’s part, the husband usually works harder himself; but even if he doesn’t, shirking responsibilities will not be excused.

Changing will easier if she is optimistic and open-minded.  If she goes into something dreading it, thinking she will hate it, griping at every little thing that does not suit her, then 99% of the time, she will hate it.  And what’s more, so will he.  He will come away dissatisfied, and she will wonder why because after all “we did just what he wanted.”  For example, in choosing a vacation trip, where they went or what they did was less the point than having a good time—with her!  Her dissatisfaction and complaining made them both miserable.

Try approaching things with a positive attitude, determined to find something in them you can enjoy, and equally determined not to gripe.  Does it require physical exertion?  Look at it as a way to improve your health.  Is he much better at it than you?  Look at it as a way to build his ego.  Compliment him fervently and he will become a gallant knight right before your eyes.  (When was the last time you gave him a real compliment anyway?)  Is it “just not the way you are?”  Then use it to improve your self-discipline (2 Pet 1:6).  None of us have enough.  Will it mess up your hairdo?  (Yes, I have actually heard that one!)  Really now, your companionship does a whole lot more for your marriage than your hairdo.  “It is not good that the man should be alone.”  Make yourself meet, suitable, for him.

There is another angle to this help business.  The very word demands that the woman not be a hindrance.  How many times have you heard it said of a man, “He’d be a good ________ if it weren’t for his wife?”  Especially in regard to his spiritual duties, what could your husband be if you were a better person?  A personal worker?  A Bible class teacher?  A full-time gospel preacher?  A deacon?  An elder?  Perhaps he needs to develop himself more as well, but will he do so if he knows that all he will get from you is criticism of his efforts or complaints about the time his new duties take or, worse yet, if he knows your character does not fit the bill (1 Tim 3:11)? Won’t you feel ashamed if your husband has to tell the Lord, “I have married a wife and therefore I cannot come” (Luke 14:20)? 

Be a help to the man you love, not a hindrance; a steppingstone on his way to Heaven, not a stumbling block over which he plunges straight into Hell.  And make no mistake about it.  If that’s what happens, you will be there too.

Do nothing from rivalry or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his (or her) own interests, but also to the interests of others.  Philippians 2:3-4.

Dene Ward

This is part 3 of the Monday series Whoso Findeth a Wife
             
In Psalms 128:3 the woman is called the fruitful vine. In the Psalm this refers primarily to bearing children, but it can also be true in other areas in which the wife acts as a producer for her husband.

The most important thing a homemaker produces is exactly what her title
says—a home.  Unfortunately, homemaking often has a bad name. 
The woman at home is portrayed as a leech on her husband’s arm—always
consuming and never producing.  In this portrait, she is sitting in her easy chair, a television in front of her, a telephone on one side, romance novels and sales catalogues on the other—or maybe a computer monitor or iPhone these days?.  On the one day a week she is not reading, gossiping, or staring, she is
out spending her husband’s hard-earned money on more clothes, a shampoo and set, and a basket full of overpriced convenience food. The beds are never made.  The clothes may be washed, but one always has to pick through the laundry basket for clean underwear.  Dinner varies from Chef-Boy-Ar-Dee to Stouffer’s, depending upon the occasion.  The children care for themselves,
coming and going as they please.  She does not know if they have done their homework or Bible lessons; she has no idea if they are being taught evolution, situation ethics, humanism, or any other atheistic –ism.  If her children were kidnapped, she wouldn’t know what they were last wearing, when they left the house, with whom, or in what direction—she sleeps in, you see.

That is our image, ladies, and some of it is our fault. We started believing our detractors when they told us how unfulfilling our lives were.  The asked us if
we work, and instead of proudly saying, “Of course, I work; I’m a homemaker,” we hung our heads and m uttered an apology about being “just a housewife.”  Titus 2:5 calls the woman a worker at home.  We have been so busy
emphasizing the “at home,” that we have forgotten to emphasize “worker.”  No, we do not punch a time clock, but that makes it more difficult, not less.  We have to make ourselves take the time and do the work.  We are on call 24 hours a day, 7 days a week—no holidays.

It takes as many hours to stretch a dollar (gardening, canning, sewing,
coupon clipping, comparison shopping, baking from scratch) as it does to earn
one.  It takes more time to read and discuss a Bible story that it does to plop a child in front of a television set.  It takes extra time to read up on humanism and monitor our children’s schoolwork for its insidious signs; then it takes old-fashioned nerve to speak up about it. It takes more self-discipline and creativity to be a homemaker than any other career in the world!

But it is a most rewarding calling if it is handled as God intended.  When one truly produces a home, people notice, not just because the housework is done, but because the atmosphere of the home is carried everywhere with the family members.  A haven, peaceful and secure—the place you run to not from—that is a home.

The fruitful vine lives to produce.  She is never resentful or regretful.  When we do as Titus 2:4 says and learn to love our husbands (not just “fall” in love) and to love our children, the homes we produce for them will show our love because all the work we do is for them.  The fruitful vine asks nothing in return from those who pick her grapes.  Because the fruit is so plenteous and good, her loved ones shower her with care and attention.  
 
What kind of fruit are you producing, ladies?  Is it scarce?  Tough?  Undersized? Seedy?  Sour?  Does it come like a fortune cookie with a little message inside:  “(Sigh) and after all I’ve done for you….”

It takes extra effort to be a fruitful vine. Let’s get to work and change our image to what it used to be. 
 
Give her of the fruit of her hands, and let her works praise her in the gates,” Prov 31:31.

Dene Ward

This is Part 2 of the new Monday series, "Whoso Findeth A Wife."

Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing…Prov 18:22.

Does one become a good thing by simply saying, “I do?” In other words is every wife a good thing?  There might be a point to this we overlook.  Because we know the answer is “no,” we add a few words to the scripture.  “Whoso findeth a wife might have found a good thing.”  But that is not what it says!  A wife is something a man has to look for whereas women who want to marry are a dime a dozen.  We are also told that the worthy woman (wife) is hard to find (Prov 31:10).  Perhaps the point is that not every married woman deserves to be called a wife.

There was an era when society cast a blind eye on a man who had both a wife and a mistress.  Yet even then, most decent women would have been insulted to be asked to be a mistress instead of a wife. It was an honor to be a man’s wife, and one recognized the responsibilities it laid upon her in behavior and management of the home.  You’ve seen those old movies just like I have.  “You don’t think I’m good enough to marry!” the courtesan screams at the two-timing husband.  “Good enough to be a wife,” shows that the position was held in honor, even if not every man treated it that way. 

And nowadays?  It has become more important to assert and indulge self.  A woman may keep her own name, or add his as an appendage to it.  She may have a career, which he must realize takes precedence over the home they planned to make together, and which may even take precedence over his career.  She may farm out their children to someone else to raise, very often a stranger whose values may or may not reflect theirs.  And in many cases, she may not even marry him.  Why bother when society doesn’t even seem to care any more either?  Once again we see that attitude:  “What’s the big deal with being a wife?”

Management of the home has taken a bad rap.  When my husband tells people, “I have no idea what’s what.  She takes care of everything,” I don’t find it a bit demeaning.  Isn’t that what women say they want these days, some recognition and appreciation for the skills they use every day?  My husband comes to me when he runs out of toothpaste, when he can’t find his favorite jeans, and when he needs the receipt for the shoes whose sole separated after just a month’s wear.  I am the one who keeps supplies stocked, sorts and files the sales slips, and knows that he wore a hole in the seat of those jeans far too large to patch with anything but a quilt.  I am the one who knows which bill is due when, and whether we can afford that new chainsaw he thinks he needs.  That’s exactly what the word means in 1 Tim 5:14, the younger widow is to remarry and manage the home--oikodespoteo--to manage as a steward under a head.  It carries a lot of responsibility.  It is required in stewards that they be found faithful, 1 Cor 4:2.

But that isn’t the half of it.  What makes this wife a good thing is that he can trust her.  She does him good and not evil all the days of her life, Prov 31:12.  The modern woman is too worried about doing for herself to do for him.  I have heard far too many of them whine about needing “me time,” even Christians.  Jesus said to save your life you need to lose it in service to others.  We will never find “me time” if that’s all we ever look for.  To save your life, you must lose it.

Doing him good all the days of your life means whether he deserves it or not, whether he can do for you or not.  I watched my mother care for my father for twelve years before he died, day and night, sacrificing her own health and well-being, even though those final three or four years he had no idea who she was.  She remembered the vows she made, not just to him, but before God as well, sixty-four years before.  If anyone deserved to be called a wife, she did.

It is one thing to say, “I am this man’s wife.”  It is another to be his wife.  We should count it an honor to be our man’s wife.  Griping about the man or the job is not the way it’s done.

A worthy woman who can find? ...The heart of her husband trusts in her, And he shall have no lack of gain. She does him good and not evil all the days of her life… She opens her mouth with wisdom; And the law of kindness is on her tongue. She looks well to the ways of her household, And eats not the bread of idleness, Prov 31:  10-12, 26,27.

Dene Ward

Despite the opinion of today’s woman, who believes that being a wife is so simple she must have something real to do with her life, it is not that easy.  Christians, too, have fallen into the notion that there is nothing to it.  Rather than studying what God has said with open and understanding minds, we have accepted the stereotype handed down by society, family, even older Christians.  Whereas the older training the younger is scriptural procedure, if their training comes only from subjective experience rather than the word of God, each generation gradually drifts from the original.  Too often culture has a way of sneaking into our thinking, and whereas the Scriptures suit all cultures, not all cultures suit the Scriptures.  I can be a modern woman and still be a Christian, but only if I accept God’s word in its entirety and alter my behavior as necessary.

Yet that isn’t the way it always works.  Countless numbers read Ephesians 5 and 1 Peter 3 in every ladies’ Bible class, and still do not recognize their own failures as wives.  We have brainwashed ourselves into believing that because we can quote these pet scriptures, are willing to say, “My husband is the head of the house,” and at least follow the norm in the church, we are good wives.  No wonder we find it so easy!  Paul warned the Corinthians about using something other than the scriptures to measure their righteousness (2 Cor, 10:12).  One can always find someone worse than she, if she looks low enough. 

James and John both teach that saying and doing are two entirely different things (James 2:18,20; 1 John 2:4; 3:18). The same women who quote scripture will ridicule their husbands to others, even in their presence, try to deceive them and think nothing of it, and make pronouncements about what those men will and will not do “in my house.”  The friends and neighbors who see us everyday, as opposed to we who blind ourselves to our behavior, may have an entirely different opinion about who runs our homes, and the state of our marriage.

We cannot be Christians without accepting the New Testament as our guide for living, and Ephesians 5, Colossians 3, and 1 Peter 3 are rich passages for us to turn to.  But if we do not know how to apply them, their benefit is lost.  Rom 15:4 gives the Christian the authority to search out the Old Testament for other clues to what God meant a wife to be.  She will find there many simple metaphors that will give her both a broader perspective and a deeper insight into the job she has before her.  It is a few of these passages we will look at in this study.

I hope you will join me every Monday for the next few weeks as we search the scriptures for these clues to being a godly wife.

Whoso findeth a wife, findeth a good thing, and obtaineth favor of Jehovah, Prov 18:22.

Dene Ward

            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 that 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 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 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 them 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

I was standing before my 4th grade class while the teacher took out the canned goods my parents had sent for the food drive.  We had always participated before, but never before had I brought such treasures.  All my fellow students oohed and aahed as the teacher pulled out beef stew, chicken noodle soup, Beanee Weanees, Chef-Boy-Ar-Dee, along with some fruit and applesauce.  I clearly had the best offering of the bunch, at least in the minds of children.  Even the teacher was impressed.  The only thing that confused me was her writing my name on each can with a big black marker, as she did for each student.  We took them to the shelves lining the back wall of the pink portable school room “until they’re needed.”

That same day our history lesson suddenly jumped forward a few hundred years to World War II.  The teacher said she had a surprise for us. “In the war, soldiers had to wear identification called ‘dog tags.’  While we study this section, you will get to wear your very own dog tags just like they did.”  And there they were, my own shiny silver dog tags hanging from a chain, with my name, my daddy’s name, our address and phone number (Cypress 3-3363, if I remember correctly), my birth date, and something odd up in the right hand corner that no one ever explained, O+.

I suppose the strangest part of this whole World War II study was the “You are there” experience.  The teacher said she wanted us to know what life must have been like for those poor people who lived in the war zone, so from then on, whenever she shouted, “Plane!” we would all dive under our desks with our hands clasped behind our necks until she gave the “all clear.”  Far from being frightened by all of this, we were thrilled.  As it happened, a couple of television series about the war were running that year, and it was like playing a part in it.  None of us had ever been touched by the horrors of a real war, so it was just a big game to us.

After a few days, our war study ended.  We were instructed to leave our dog tags at home, and, for some reason, the poor people no longer needed the food, so we all took our cans back home.  Why none of us questioned any of this is beyond me.  It was a simpler time, I suppose, when children just did as they were told without asking why.

I gradually forgot about that odd experience, but when I was a teenager studying American History I suddenly figured it out.  On October 14, 1962 American satellites had just discovered Soviet missiles carrying nuclear warheads on the island of Cuba, and the Cold War was on the brink of becoming the hottest war ever fought. 

We lived on the west side of Orlando, about halfway between Cape Canaveral and Strategic Air Command at MacDill AFB in Tampa, two prime targets.  Should we be attacked while in school, the dog tags identified us until a family member could be located, the blood type expedited care if we were injured, the food fed us a few days if it took that long to find us a place to go, and all that “war” practice was to keep injuries at a minimum—from the normal things anyway.  There was not much they could do about radioactive fallout.

I cannot imagine how it must have felt to send your child out alone in times like that, but, as I recall, no one stayed home.  We sat every day with our dog tags jingling as we jumped up and down to the shout of “Plane!”  My parents went to work every morning and so did the neighbors.  Life went on, but we took some pretty elaborate precautions—it would have been foolish to do otherwise.

Things are not really that different now.  We’re not afraid of bombs falling at any moment, but there are much worse things out there to harm our children.  Are you taking any precautions?  Do they know who they are and where they belong?  Do they know what to do in case their faith is attacked?

Send them out well-armed.  The doctrines of Satan, most notably humanism, lie between the lines of practically every school textbook. Look through them the first day they cross your threshold. “Values clarification” is just a fancy way of saying “situation ethics.”  You need to know the teacher who is teaching it, and her own moral code.  Talk to your children every night about things they have heard from teachers or friends.  Start doing this their first day of school.  If you wait till they are teenagers, it is too late.

The Cuban Missile Crisis lasted just a few days, but look how carefully the parents prepared “just in case.”  You have a crisis today that lasts far longer.  You need to prepare even more than those parents did.  The “just in case” is a whole lot more terrifying.

Give ear, O my people, to my law; incline your ears to the words of my mouth.  I will open my mouth in a parable; I will utter dark sayings of old, which we have heard and known, and our fathers have told us.  We will not hide them from their children, telling to the generations to come the praises of Jehovah, and his strength, and his wondrous works that he has done…that the generation to come might know them, even the children that should be born, who should arise and tell them to their children; that they might set their hope in God, and not forget the works of God, but keep his commandments, Psa 78:1-4, 6,7.

Dene Ward

My grandmother crocheted a lace tablecloth for me many years ago.  She was quite a lady, my grandmother.  She was widowed in her forties, left behind with two of her five children still at home.  She met the bills by doing seasonal work in the citrus packing sheds of central Florida, standing on her feet 10-12 hours a day, 6 days a week in season, and then working in a drugstore, a job she walked to and from for nearly thirty years.  She delivered prescriptions, worked the check-out, even made sodas at the fountain.  
             
It was a small town and once, a woman whom my grandmother knew was not
married, came in looking for some form of birth control. My grandmother told her, “No!  Go home and behave yourself like a decent woman should."  No, she did not lose her job over that.  She merely said what every other person there wished they had the nerve to say back in those days.  She lived long enough to see the shame of our society that no one thinks it needs saying any more.
             
As to my tablecloth, most people would look at it and think it was imperfect.  She crocheted with what was labeled “ivory” thread, but she could never afford to buy enough at once to do the whole piece.  So after she cashed her paycheck, she went to the store and bought as much as her budget would allow that week and worked on it.  The next week, she went back and did the same, always buying the same brand labeled “ivory.”  Funny thing about those companies, though—when the lot changes, sometimes the color does too, sometimes only a little, but sometimes “ivory” becomes more of a vanilla or even crème caramel.  The intricately crocheted squares in my tablecloth are not all the same color, even though the thread company said they were.
             
Some people probably look at it and wonder what went wrong. All they see is mismatched colors. What I see is a grandmother’s love, a grandmother who had very little, but who wanted to do something special for her oldest grandchild.  I revel in those mismatched squares because I know my grandmother thought of me every week for a long time, spent the precious little she had to try to do something nice, and, as far as I am concerned, succeeded far beyond her wildest dreams.
             
If it were your grandmother, you would think the same I am sure.  So why is it we think Almighty God cannot take our imperfections and make us into great men and women of faith?  Why is it we beat ourselves to death when we make a mistake, even one we repent of and do our best to correct?  Do we not yet understand grace?  Are we so arrogant that we think we don’t have to forgive ourselves even though God does? Yes we should understand the enormity of our sin, repenting in godly sorrow, over and over, even as David did, but prolonged groveling in the pit of unworthiness can be more about self-pity and lacking faith in God to do what he promised than it is about humility.  The longer we indulge in it, the less we are doing for the Lord, and Satan is just as pleased as if we had gone on sinning. Either way helps him out.
             
The next time you look into a mirror and see only your faults, remember my tablecloth.  When you give God all you have, he can make you into something beautiful too.
 
And God is able to make all grace abound unto you, that you, always having all sufficiency in everything, may abound unto every good work,
2 Cor 9:8.  
  

Dene Ward

I don’t know what we would have done without hand-me-downs.  
 
Lucas survived his infancy on borrowed baby clothes, but that young
mother soon needed them again so there were no tiny clothes to pass down to Nathan.  At that point we were   living by a children’s clothes factory and could go to the outlet store and buy seconds for as little as fifty cents each. Each summer and each winter I dug my way  through a mountain of irregulars and managed to find three shirts and three  pairs of either shorts or long pants, according to the season.  Sometimes the colors were a little odd, like the “dress” shoes I bought   for Lucas when he was two—maroon patent leather with a beige saddle—but they   covered his feet for $1 and no one was likely to mistake them for another child’s shoes.

 Then, just as they reached school age, we found ourselves in a church
with half a dozen little boys just three or four years older than they.  Suddenly my boys’ closet was  bursting.  They were far better dressed than I was, and they had even more waiting to be grown into. They didn’t mind hand-me-downs and neither did our scanty bank account. Keith and I have followed suit. Probably 75% of my clothes are hand-me-downs, and the rest I picked up at consignment shops and thrift stores, with only a handful of things I bought new, always off a clearance rack. Keith has more shirts than he could wear in a month—we didn’t buy a one of  them.

 When you get a hand-me-down, sometimes you can’t wear it as is. Sometimes it’s my own personal sense of taste, meager though that may be. Sometimes it’s a size issue. I have been known to take up hems or let them out if the giver was taller or shorter than I.  I almost always remove shoulder pads.  I have wide shoulders for a woman and shoulder pads make me look like a football player in full gear.  If the collar has a  bow, a scarf, or high buttons, those go too—I hate anything close around my neck and it makes my already full face look like a bowling ball. So while I gratefully accept those second hand clothes, I do something to make them my own.

 Which brings me to handed-down faith.  Being raised in the church can be both a blessing and a curse.  Being taught from before you can remember means doing right becomes second nature. There is never any question where I will be on Sunday morning because I have always been there.  There is never any question what I will do when it’s time to make a choice that involves morals or doctrine.  There is never any question about my priorities—my parents taught those to me every day of my childhood, both in word and deed.

 Yet God will not accept any faith that is not my own. Yes, He was with Ishmael for Abraham’s sake, Gen 17:20; 21:13.  To those who are dear to His children, but who are not believers, God will sometimes send material lessings, 39:5, and physical salvation, 19:29, but He will not take a hand-me-down faith until it becomes personal, Ezek 18:1-4.  I have to reach a point where I know not only what I believe, but why, and that faith must permeate my life as I lead it, in every situation I find myself in, in every decision I must make, but at the same time come from my heart not habit. If I have not reached that  point, what will I do when my parents are gone?  Will my faith stand then? Or will I be like Joash, who did just fine as long as his mentor Jehoiada the priest was alive, but fell to the point of killing his cousin Zechariah, a prophet of God, when he was finally left on his own? (2 Chron 24)  
 
Pass your faith on to your children, but your job doesn’t end  there.  Help them make it their  own.  Let them tear out those  shoulder pads and lengthen those hems.  It really isn’t a compliment to your parenting skills if all they can do is mimic you while you are still alive to keep tabs on them. You might in fact be limiting them by demanding exact conformity to every nuance of your own faith.  Their  faith could very well soar farther than you ever thought about if you let them  fly.

 But the real test comes when you are gone. Can you rest well with the job you have done?

 I think it right, as long as I am in this body, to stir you up by way of reminder, since I know  that the putting off of my body will be soon, as our Lord Jesus Christ made  clear to me. And I will make every effort so that after my departure you may be able at any time to recall these things. For… we have something more sure, the prophetic word, to which you will do well to pay attention as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts -- 2 Peter 1:13-15, 19.

 Dene  Ward

It takes us three days to pack for a camping trip.  I have a list saved on the computer that I print out every time—three pages.  Yes, I said three pages.

Just for meals, for instance, I pack cups, mugs, plates, soup bowls, a measuring cup, grill tools, saucepans, skillets, the coffee pot, propane stoves, matches, gas canisters, coffee filters, a griddle, a folding grill, a mixing bowl, silverware, mixing spoons and spatulas, foil, Ziplocs for leftovers, a bacon drippings can, paper towels, dish soap, a dish pan, dish towels, hot pads, and trash bags, and that doesn’t count the food!  Now imagine things you need for every part of your day, from brushing your teeth, to hiking, to showering, to sitting around after dark reading, to going to bed, and you begin to see why the list is three pages long.

We use this list because I have found that if I don’t have it to cross off, I will invariably forget something.  From time to time we delete something on the list or add something as our situation changes.  When we were young we didn’t need to take two boxes of medications. 

We keep a backup disk of items saved on the computer.  That list is on it.  Should we ever lose it, I might even be tempted to never go camping again.  I cannot imagine having to remake the list from memory.  More likely, we would remake it around the fire the first night after discovering all the things we forgot.

When we had boys with us, I had other things on the list that were equally important.  In fact, I was probably more careful about their things than mine.  I wanted them to have enough clothes, especially enough warm clothes.  I learned that lesson the hard way when we woke up by a mountain stream one June morning to fifty degree temperatures and they had nothing but shorts and tee shirts to wear.  Fifty degrees in June?  As a Florida native I didn’t even know that was possible, and I felt horrible, quickly mixing up some warm oatmeal and hot chocolate while Keith built a campfire for them to huddle around as they ate.

We are all on a trip every day of our lives.  What have you packed for your children?  Too many parents just let life happen without a plan.  Do you teach them?  Do you talk with them every chance you get about a God who loves them, who made them, and who expects things of them?  Do you discuss the things that happen in their lives and the decisions they made, or perhaps should have made?  Do they know that those decisions will affect their eternal destiny?  Do you allow them to pay the consequences for their mistakes, or do you shelter them?  Do you tell them what the world is really like out there, how to recognize the traps, the enemies in disguise and the true values of life?  Are you sure you have everything they could possibly need to assure their eternal destiny?

Maybe you need to make a list.

We will not hide them from their children, but tell to the coming generation the glorious deeds of the LORD, and his might, and the wonders that he has done. He established a testimony in Jacob and appointed a law in Israel, which he commanded our fathers to teach to their children, that the next generation might know them, the children yet unborn, and arise and tell them to their children, so that they should set their hope in God and not forget the works of God, but keep his commandments; Psalms 78:4-7.

Dene Ward

I wonder how many of us are so enamored by what we consider a “beautiful” love story, that we miss an even better one.  It really should tell us something when we read that Jacob loved Rachel because of her looks.  Since when do we teach our children that outer beauty is all that matters?             

After the marriages, Leah had children almost immediately.  Rachel, of course, wanted children too.  Her first resort was to demand them of Jacob, Give me children or else I die!  Gen 30:1, as if a man who had already fathered at least four were at fault.  Am I being overly critical or doesn’t she sound as childish as a little girl threatening to hold her breath if she doesn’t get her way?

Then she gave her handmaid to her husband (v, 3) for in that culture, the children of one’s handmaid were legally your own, and the family already had precedent for such a thing in Hagar.  Of course that was less than satisfying, especially since her sister could do the same. 

Then she resorted to mandrakes, the local aphrodisiac of the area, v 14, not too surprising from a woman who would steal her father’s household gods, I suppose.  As you go through chapter 30, pay special attention to the names of the children, what they mean, and what each mother said when they were born.  That speaks volumes in itself. 

Finally Rachel went to Jehovah.  We really have no record of her doing that, but let’s give her the benefit of the doubt since the scriptures do say and God hearkened to [Rachel] and opened her womb, v 22.  Still, her attitude is shown when she greets that child with Jehovah, give me another one! and names her son that very sentiment, “Joseph,” may God add, v 24.  Compare that to Leah who, when she named Judah, and called to her son every day afterward, was “praising” Jehovah.

Is that how we treat prayer as well, a last resort?  Does God only hear from us when we get desperate or scared or so distressed that we finally realize we have no other hope for a happy ending?   Do we demand help from God, then angrily complain when that prayer, which may be the first we have prayed in a week or a month or even longer, does not accomplish what we want?  And when we finally do get the desired answer, do we act entitled and fail to express any gratitude at all?  After all, we serve God and therefore He is supposed to take care of us, right?  If we don’t get what we want, why should we bother?

Ultimately, Jacob seems to have learned who the better wife was.  When Rachel died, she was buried where she fell, even though it was only a day’s walk from the family burial plot at Machpelah.  Jacob himself expected his sons to carry his body back all the way from Egypt.  And hear what he says about that:  there they buried Abraham and Sarah his wife, and there they buried Isaac and Rebekah his wife, and there I buried Leah, Gen 49:31.  Jacob wanted to be buried next to Leah, the woman he had chosen to place in the family tomb.  Finally, he could see a beauty that mattered.  I imagine his change of heart had a lot to do with their shared faith in God, and their recognition that He was responsible for every good thing they had.  (Study those names!)  And didn’t God choose Leah as well?  For it is evident that our Lord has sprung out of Judah, Heb 7:14, who was Leah’s son.

God will notice our faith, our desire to talk with Him, our recognition of His providence and care.  Prayer is not about entitlement, but gratitude. 

Oh give thanks unto Jehovah, for his lovingkindness endures forever.
Oh give thanks unto the God of gods, for his lovingkindness endures forever.
Oh give thanks unto the Lord of lords, for his lovingkindness endures forever.
Psalm 136:1-3

Dene Ward