My spell-check tells me that is not a word—grandparenting.  Obviously, spell check does not have any grandchildren!
            Everyone tells you before your first child is born that your life is about to change and will never be the same again.  In fact, they tell you so often that you get sick of hearing it and almost determine that it won't happen to you—except something tells you it will, somehow or other, and it does.  You instantly know a love like no other, one so deep and intense it nearly scares you.  Everyone was right after all.
            I don't think anyone ever told me that about grandparenting.  They should have.  It hits you like a train too, just as it does parents, but in a slightly different way.  After all, parents are on the local train, and grandparents get the express, especially if they live a ways off.  You see those precious souls in bits and pieces and have to cram years of influence into days.  If you get the wonderful chance to babysit while mom and dad are out of town and get to pretend they are actually yours, not just for an hour or two, but for a few days—grandparenting becomes Heaven on Earth. 
            And don't let anyone tell you the love is any less intense.  Just the other day I saw a picture of these two taken from behind.  When I saw the backs of those little heads, I wanted to kiss them so badly I hurt.  Two little boys made me a mom, and now two little boys have made me a grandmother—the most wonderful role God ever created.
            The Bible doesn't really say much about grandparents.  We know they are there because we see the relationships, but even then we don't really see the interaction.  For example, Abraham was 100 when Isaac was born (Gen 21:5).  Isaac married at 40 and was 60 when Jacob and Esau were born (Gen 25:26).  Abraham died at 175 (Gen 25:7).  Do the math.  Isaac would have been 75 and Jacob and Esau would have been 15.  They knew their grandfather Abraham.  How did they get along?  What did they learn from him?  That part of the relationship is left for us to imagine.
            The best we can do to see grandparenting relationships are two women, one in the Old Testament and one in the New.  Naomi left Israel with her family and lived in Moab (Ruth 1).  While there, her husband died, and then both of her sons, leaving her with two widowed daughters-in-law.  I will not vilify Orpah as many do, but we all know the story of how Ruth returned to Israel with Naomi and then spent her days supporting both of them through the benevolent welfare system God had set up.  People left crops behind in the fields, often on purpose, and the poor labored to gather what they needed.
            In the process, Boaz came to redeem Naomi's son's land and married his widow.  The first son of that pair legally wore the name of the dead husband and was Naomi's legal grandson.  So Boaz took Ruth, and she became his wife. And he went in to her, and the LORD gave her conception, and she bore a son. Then the women said to Naomi, “Blessed be the LORD, who has not left you this day without a redeemer, and may his name be renowned in Israel! He shall be to you a restorer of life and a nourisher of your old age, for your daughter-in-law who loves you, who is more to you than seven sons, has given birth to him.” Then Naomi took the child and laid him on her lap and became his nurse.  (Ruth 4:13-16).  Don't tell me that Naomi did not play a huge role in how that child was raised, a child in the line of the Messiah, by the way.
            And then we have Lois.  Her daughter, having been raised (we suppose) in the town where Paul found her, Lystra, and where there was no synagogue, had married a Gentile.  In those days, being single was not really an option.  Lydia aside, most women simply could not support themselves.  So probably her father had done his best to find her a good man who would treat her right.  That left her trying to raise a godly son without a Jewish community's help.  But she did have her mother's help, and they succeeded beyond their wildest dreams, I imagine.  Paul says to Timothy, I am reminded of your sincere faith, a faith that dwelt first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice and now, I am sure, dwells in you as well.  (2Tim 1:5).
            We can make some suppositions about other grandparents in the Bible, but these two are important.  They tell us that we should have a part in our grandchildren's lives.  Though I never really knew my grandfathers, I remember both of my grandmothers fondly.  I could talk to them about things I was uncomfortable talking to my parents about.  Both of them were Christians so my parents did not need to worry what I might be taught.  We need to be that trustworthy as grandparents, too, and willingly play a part in their lives.  (I can't imagine anyone needing to be told that!)
            And that, of course, leads to the second thing—our children should be able to count on us to help in the teaching process, to reinforce their own rules and values, and to add the wisdom gained from our own life experiences as we teach those precious souls.  We also have the opportunity to observe, and in that observation perhaps come up with lessons our grandchildren not only need to hear, but might be more likely to hear from us than from mom and dad. 
            Children are truly a heritage from the Lord (Psa 127:3).  Then they give you grandchildren and prove it all over again.  Be there for them.  Teach them.  Love them.  That's what God expects from a grandparent.
           
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, to those who keep his covenant and remember to do his commandments.  (Ps 103:15-18)

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

Keith had to have some fairly serious surgery last year and since he is 90% deaf, the doctor arranged for me to be in his hospital room as his caregiver 24/7.  He does read lips fairly well, but lip reading is not the perfect solution to the problem.  He must “fill in the blanks,” so to speak, as his mind tries to interpret the sounds his ears miss, which is most of them.  It takes a lot of concentration, and when he is tired or does not feel well, he simply cannot hear at all.  But over the years I have learned how to communicate in all the various ways, from hand signals to pantomime to pointing at people or things to carefully wording without overdoing the mouth movements or using too many words. 
            So for six days we were both away from home and wouldn’t you know it, it was the height of garden season.  When we came home I had to do it all because he couldn’t even lift more than 10 pounds for two months, let alone bend over to pick vegetables or drag hoses.  That first week was the worst.  I picked every morning, sprayed the whole garden twice, (we’re talking an 80 x 80 garden here), pulled cucumber vines covered with blight, chopped out and hauled away the old corn stalks, placed folded newspapers under 50 cantaloupes so they wouldn’t rot on the ground (a very thin-skinned variety), cleaned out weed-choked flower beds, put up both dill and red cinnamon pickles, and picked and tossed 8 five gallon buckets of squash and cucumbers that did not have the grace to stop growing while we were in the hospital!
            Of course we all know that is not going to happen.  The plants continue to grow, the blossoms continue to set, and the fruit grows far larger than you ever imagined it could.  The back field looked like a marching band had gone through throwing out big yellow saxophones as they passed.
            It works that way with children too.  I can think of dozens of things we planned to do with our boys when they were little—things we never got to.  Sometimes it was a case of no money, but sometimes we just let life get in the way.  I wrack my brain trying to remember if there was anything we planned that we actually accomplished at all!  But just like gardens, children keep on growing.  They don’t stop to wait until you have more time to spend with them, or more resources to spend on them.  They won’t wait till you get a bigger house or an easier job or a raise.  They won’t wait until your life is exactly like you want it.  If that’s what you are waiting for, it will never happen.  You have to set your own priorities and make it happen.
            Every summer I made my boys a chore list.  I am sure they remember it fondly!  No, probably not, but on that list was this:  “Play a game with mom.”  Guess which “chore” they never skipped?  Sometimes it was checkers, sometimes it was monopoly, sometimes it was even pinochle, a game they learned with some of their dad’s commentaries set up on the table to hide their hands because they were too small to hold all the cards at once.  Sometimes it was one of the board games I made to help them with their Bible knowledge.  And every day we had Bible study of some kind, whether just talking about things between the bean rows as we picked together or a formal sit down study. 
            These are just some ideas to help you along.  We have all heard the old poem “Children Don’t Wait.”  It’s true, and last summer I thought about that even more as I looked out over the overgrown garden.  Maybe my grandsons will reap a little from the repeat of a lesson that is never taught enough.
 
And he said unto them, Set your heart unto all the words which I testify unto you this day, which you shall command your children to observe to do, even all the words of this law. For it is no vain thing for you; because it is your life...Deut 32:46-47.
 
Dene Ward

Today is a day for lovers, or so the merchandisers of the world say.  Do Keith and I do anything special?  You better believe it.  It’s usually nothing huge—a card, a homemade gift, a bouquet of handpicked wildflowers, a special dessert.  We don’t try to single-handedly support Madison Avenue.  Sometimes Keith simply takes the day off and we spend time together talking—what a novel idea, especially for some married folks!  Not because we celebrate some Catholic “saint” or because we feel pressured by society, but because we take every opportunity to revel in our love.  How do you think we have managed to put up with each other for all these years?
            Romance is not an un-Biblical concept.  While the description of the body in several passages in the Song of Solomon may not appeal to our Western ears, it is still used in the courtship rituals of some Eastern countries today.  The Proverb writer speaks of romance like this: There are three things which are too wonderful for me, yes, four which I do not understand:  the way of an eagle in the air, the way of a serpent upon a rock, the way of a ship in the middle of the sea, and the way of a man with a maid, 30:18-20. 
            The writer of Ecclesiastes tells us to live joyfully with the wife whom you love all the days of your life of vanity, which he has given you under the sun…for that is your portion in life, 9:9.  “Live joyfully” is an injunction; it is not passive.  Do not wait for it; initiate it yourself.  These passages were originally spoken to couples whose marriages were arranged.  Imagine what God expects of those of us who chose our own spouses after “falling in love.” 
            Two or three times a week as I clean out Keith’s lunchbox in the evening, I find red, heart-shaped love notes he has cut out of some office scrap paper and written—I know he has taken time out of a busy day to think of me.  And he usually calls during his lunch hour.
            Eating a nice dinner out is in our budget only a couple of times a year—and that is up from the early days of our marriage--but I can make a four course meal for two for the price of one entrée in an upscale restaurant, and enjoy doing it. Several times a year, we dress up, get out the china, light the candles, and have a meal I have worked on all day.  When the boys were little, I fixed them their own special meal—more along the lines of pizza than boeuf bourguignon--then explained how they could help mommy and daddy have a special time together by going to bed early, and staying there.  Besides the reward of their favorite meal, they could stay up late reading and talking to one another.  We occasionally heard thumps and giggles long after we would have ordinarily put a stop to it, but never once did they not fulfill their part of the bargain by interrupting us because we stressed to them how important their part was and they were thrilled to do it. 
            Marriage is a high maintenance relationship.  If you neglect it, it goes downhill in a hurry.  Do something today, no matter how small it may be—and whether or not the other one reciprocates--to keep that from happening.  Make sure it is something that will mean something to your spouse, not just to you!  Men and women are different that way (as if you hadn’t noticed).  Then choose another time to do it again—not just your anniversary or Valentine’s Day.  Do it sometimes for no good reason at all. Or isn’t keeping your marriage alive reason enough? 
            God expects you to romance one another.
 
Drink waters out of your own cistern, and running waters out of your own well.  Should your springs be dispersed abroad, and streams of water in the streets?  Let them be for yourself alone, and not for strangers with you.  Let your fountain be blessed and rejoice in the wife of your youth.  As a loving hind and a pleasant doe, let her breasts satisfy you at all times, and be ravished always with her love.  Prov 5:15-20   
 
Dene Ward

We had a long drive ahead of us that day, one on unfamiliar winding backroads, so we were both watching carefully for hairpin curves and highway numbers which seemed to rise up out of nowhere.  More than once we nearly missed a turn.
              At least the scenery was beautiful, hills carpeted in autumn colors, green valleys and lakes reflecting the clear blue skies, red barns, silver silos, white rail fencing snaking over the rolling pastures.  Then suddenly we passed an old homestead.  The barn had fallen in on itself, the fencing was obscured by weeds and grass.  Even the foundation lay in a heap of crumbled rubble—except for the red brick fireplace that stood straight and solid in the center of the home site.
              I couldn’t help but wonder how many fires had warmed the house when it stood, and how many generations had gathered around that hearth before the house was finally destroyed.  And wasn’t it intriguing that something big enough and strong enough to destroy a house would leave a fireplace completely unscathed?  No crumbling, no cracks, not even any smoke damage.
              Hearths have symbolized warmth, security and traditional family values for centuries.  Just as today our kitchens tend to be the center of the home, the hearth was that center in earlier times.  And just like that fireplace that stood alone after the destruction of the house, when our life takes a bad turn, the home and family you come from can be the reason you make it through those times.
              The values instilled by your parents can make you or break you.  Work ethic, determination, integrity, honesty, and above all, service to God and others—these are the things that will help you stand when others fall.  And these are the things your children need to see and hear in you for exactly the same reasons.
              The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world, the old saying goes, but it’s actually a pair of hands, maybe 3 or 4 pairs—parents and grandparents that mold young minds through teaching and especially example.  God meant for us to be their role models, not some famous athlete, singer, or actor, not some politician or businessman, not even some big name preacher.
              Long after you are gone, that fireplace will stand in your child’s heart.  No matter what comes his way, what you have taught him will see him through.  Be sure you have laid the bricks well.
 
Things that we have heard and known, that our fathers have told us. 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…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; Ps 78:3-7.
 
Dene Ward

In honor of my mother whom we will bury this week, a repeat from the past.  I hope to be back to regular posting on Monday, December 2.

When I was a very young teenager, we lived next door to a family with five children under the age of ten.  We were new in the area and didn’t know them very well, but we knew those basics. 

              One Sunday morning my mother was reading the newspaper over a last cup of coffee when I heard her gasp.  The paper slipped out of her fingers into her lap and onto the floor.  The father of the family next door had been killed in an automobile collision the night before. 

              She immediately dressed and walked over to our neighbors’ home to see what she could do.  About an hour later we left for worship services as usual.  While we were there she organized a food drive, asking individuals in the church to bring whatever shelf stable items they could spare on Wednesday evening.  Afterward we headed back home, but my mother wasn’t finished.

              We walked in to that wonderful Sunday aroma of pot roast.  Even after all these years, I have never been able to replicate my mother’s.  But instead of immediately changing clothes and starting to prepare our dinner, she grabbed an apron and started telling my sister and I what she needed us to do.  She made the gravy, heated the rolls, and then proceeded to pack up the entire meal.  We stowed it all in big cardboard boxes in the trunk and then drove to the home of the man’s parents, where his wife and children had gathered with the rest of the family.  I remember walking up the steps to that frame house, holding that hot gravy in a Tupperware container, careful not to squeeze too tight so the steam wouldn’t cause the lid to pop right off.  We handed our dinner to the stunned people inside, then offered condolences and drove back home.

              We came in, changed clothes and sat down to paper plates, bologna, and bread.  There was nothing else easy to prepare on short notice.  Understand this:  I hated bologna.  But I relished every bite of that sandwich.  Nothing had ever tasted so good.  That’s what giving does to you.  That is precisely why Jesus said, “It is more blessed to give than to receive.”

              I have often wondered if I have given my children enough of those kind of memories, lessons learned that you never forget, not even the smallest details.  Are you doing that for your children?  Do they see things that involve them and stay with them, teaching them the joy of giving to those in need, even if it costs you a little something. 

              I learned it the day I ate that sandwich and loved every bite of it and I have never forgotten that lesson.  And in case you wondered, our brothers and sisters in the church came through on that food drive.  We went to Bible study that Wednesday night expecting at most a couple brown grocery bags full to add to the one we brought.  I think we took three empties just in case to store the cans and boxes we expected to be handed.  Almost every member brought their own brown paper bag and nearly every one of them was full to the top. 

              We stopped next door on our way home, and carried those bags in that Wednesday night.  The new young widow watched in amazement as the four of us traipsed back and forth to the car, over and over and over.  We covered her table, her countertops, and half her kitchen floor with grocery bags.  That’s another sight I will never forget—her grabbing my mother around the neck and squeezing tightly as she said, “Thank you, thank you, oh thank you,” again and again and again, tears running down her cheeks.  It’s been over forty years, but it’s like it was yesterday as I sit here remembering. 

              Learn the gift of generous giving, giving even out of want, giving when it costs you something.  And above all, teach your children exactly how amazing a bologna sandwich can taste.
 
We want you to know, brothers, about the grace of God that has been given among the churches of Macedonia, for in a severe test of affliction, their abundance of joy and their extreme poverty have overflowed in a wealth of generosity on their part. For they gave according to their means, as I can testify, and beyond their means, of their own accord, begging us earnestly for the favor of taking part in the relief of the saints— and this, not as we expected, but they gave themselves first to the Lord and then by the will of God to us. Accordingly, we urged Titus that as he had started, so he should complete among you this act of grace. But as you excel in everything—in faith, in speech, in knowledge, in all earnestness, and in our love for you— see that you excel in this act of grace also. 2Cor 8:1-7.
 
Hilda Ayers passed from this life into glory on November 20, 2019.

              She was born on June 12, 1928, in Jakin, Georgia, just across the Florida-Georgia state line.  Her mother, Estelle, had returned to her childhood home with her 18 month old son Harvey Lee (Dick) to have her second child while her husband Joseph Lee Davis stayed home to continue his work as a carpenter.  Three weeks later, he returned to pick up his growing family and take them back home to Winter Garden, Florida, in a small frame house at 91 N. Main St.

              Winter Garden sits in Central Florida just 10 miles from Orlando, the typical small southern town with a railroad running down the center and diagonal parking in front of a dime store, a barber shop, a bank, a Piggly Wiggly, and a drug store complete with soda fountain.  This small town was surrounded by orange groves and packing houses—at least until the Mouse became king.

              Hilda graduated from Lakeview High School in 1946 and a year later, on September 6, 1947, married her high school sweetheart, Gerald Ayers.  Their strong marriage lasted 64 years, until his death on September 11, 2011.  Their first home was in Winter Garden, but with Gerald's job changes and promotions they also lived in Orlando, Palmetto, Tampa, and Orlando once again where he retired.

              She was mainly a stay-at-home mom, but whenever the need arose, she took a job and worked as a bank teller, as a clerk in the registrar's office of the University of South Florida, and finally as an administrative assistant in the Orange County School System in Winter Garden, back where it all began.

              After retirement they enjoyed a small bit of traveling, but stayed active in the Lord's church wherever they lived.  They left behind a string of good deeds, generous gifts, and the strong example of godly lives. 

              In 2015, Hilda moved to Gainesville to be closer to her older daughter for both companionship and care.  She became a member of the Glen Springs Road church and instantly made a host of new friends with her sweet disposition and quick wit.  She will be missed by too many to list.

              Hilda is survived by her daughters Dene (Mrs. Keith) Ward of Lake Butler and Donna (Mrs. Dennis) Craig of Roanoke, Texas,  brother Johnnie (Jan) Davis of Leesburg, sister Bonnie MacDonald of Elijay, Georgia, 9 grandchildren and 7 great-grandchildren.  She was pre-deceased by husband Gerald, brother Harvey Lee (Dick) Davis, and sister Jo Ann Webb.

              Her biggest legacy is this:  of her 2 children, 9 grandchildren and 7 great-grandchildren and their appropriate spouses, every one of those who are accountable before God are His faithful children.  Her great faith will live on.

Dene Ward

Several years back we camped at Cloudland Canyon one autumn week, enjoying the new varieties of bird, the mountains carpeted with fall colors, and the spectacle every morning of clouds wafting through the campground from the cliffs just beyond it, cliffs high enough to look down on hawks as they soared by. 
 
             The neighbors twenty yards away were a small family, a man, his wife, and two little boys, the older about 7 or 8, and the younger just barely past the toddler years.  This was obviously a planned family outing, one that probably didn’t happen very often but that the parents were determined to make a good experience.  They did everything in a planned and almost regimented fashion.  “It’s time to light the fire.”  “Now it’s time to tell ghost stories.”  “Now it’s time to roast marshmallows.”  In between all this, the mother was on her cell phone every hour or so, sometimes for as long as a half hour, seeing to her business. 

              And both parents became impatient at the drop of a hat.  If the boys didn’t react to every activity as they thought they should, they became frustrated and almost angry.  (Who should be surprised if a ghost story terrified a four year old?)  They had mistaken the stereotype of a camping trip for the spontaneous fun of the real thing.  They had probably fallen for that “quality time” myth.

              And because we can’t seem to stop helping out, we offered them a few things, like some lighter wood to help get those campfires going more easily, and we occasionally stopped by on the way back and forth from the bathhouse, to talk and reminisce with them about the times when our two boys were that age.  They seemed appreciative, especially the father, who, we discovered when we got closer, was about 20 years older than the usual father of boys that age, and quite a few years older than the mother.

              As we talked we noticed that the older boy always wore Baylor tee shirts and sweat shirts and had a Baylor hat, so Keith talked to him some about football and asked how Baylor was doing.  The father sighed and said, “He doesn’t know anything about Baylor football.  He just likes the color green.”

              They left after just a weekend, and it sounded like they were leaving one night early, perhaps disappointed that this hadn’t turned out quite like they had expected. 

              You can learn a lot yourselves, just considering this family.  It’s always easier to judge from a distance.  But that little boy can teach us all something today.  Why is it that you assemble where you do?  Why did you choose that place?

              We would all understand the fallacy of going to the handiest place, regardless what they taught.  But how about this:  Do you go where you are needed, or to the place considered the most popular in the area, the most sociable, the one where you wouldn’t mind having people see you standing outside hobnobbing?  Do you go where the work is hard or where the singing is good?  Do you go where the preaching is entertaining or where the teaching is scriptural and plain?  Do you go expecting the church to do for you, or because you want to do for them?

              Too many Christians look upon a church in a proprietary way, as if they had the right to judge everything about it and everyone in it, especially the superficial things—the singing, the preaching, the way the people dress and their occupations and connections in the world.  The way some people choose congregations, they might as well go because they like the color green. 

              The church belongs to Christ, that’s what “church of Christ” means.  It belongs to God, that’s what “church of God” means.  Christ’s church is there to give me an outlet for my service and a source of encouragement toward doing that service.  It is not there to serve me and my preferences. 

              Someday that little boy will grow up and learn to examine the football programs he roots for, choosing them for their character and integrity instead of their colors.  Maybe it’s time we grew up with him.
 
Show hospitality to one another without grumbling. As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God's varied grace: whoever speaks, as one who speaks oracles of God; whoever serves, as one who serves by the strength that God supplies—in order that in everything God may be glorified through Jesus Christ. To him belong glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen. 1 Pet 4:9-13     
 
Dene Ward

It's hard to keep a good man down, but some wives are talented. (Ruth Hazelwood, The Challenge of Being a Wife)

If I greeted my husband half as enthusiastically as the dog does, maybe he would come home in a better mood. (Unknown)

Then the LORD God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper fit for him.” (Gen 2:18).

Blessed is everyone who fears the LORD, who walks in his ways! You shall eat the fruit of the labor of your hands; you shall be blessed, and it shall be well with you. Your wife will be like a fruitful vine within your house; your children will be like olive shoots around your table. Behold, thus shall the man be blessed who fears the LORD. The LORD bless you from Zion! May you see the prosperity of Jerusalem all the days of your life! May you see your children's children! Peace be upon Israel! Ps 128.
 
            Nearly every commentator believes the Psalms of Ascents (120-134) were psalms sung by families as they made their way up the hill (ascending) to Jerusalem to worship on the feast days, especially the agricultural feast days of Passover, Tabernacles, and Weeks.  As such you see in your mind’s eye the extended family of parents, children, grandparents, and perhaps maiden aunts or other singles stepping out to the tune of these psalms, year after year, a tradition kept by every generation.  This particular psalm is a picture of the life that family leads the rest of the year, another routine that some might even consider dull but which God calls blessed.

              The father works, but the implication is not one of a career-minded workaholic.  This man labors for his family, to provide those meals they meet around the table to eat together and the sacrifices they are able to make on their annual pilgrimages. 

              The mother is “a fruitful vine within the house.”  That does not mean she never steps outside the door—it means she, too, is family-oriented.  Like the ideal woman of Proverbs 31, caring for her family may force her to leave the home occasionally, but she is the direct opposite of that other woman in Proverbs:  She is loud and wayward; her feet do not stay at home; now in the street, now in the market, and at every corner she lies in wait, Prov 7:11-12.

              This blessed family meets at the table every evening and has their meal together.  And several times a year they make that journey to Jerusalem, to God’s Temple, to the assembled worship prescribed by the Law.  When I think about this family, I think of my childhood.  Every Sunday we had a routine.  We rose, ate breakfast together, and then dressed to go meet with the saints.  No one ever asked where we would be or what we would do on Sunday.  We all knew exactly where we would be and what we would be doing.

              When I raised my family, the same thing happened.  Maybe the routine was a little different, but it was a routine.  My boys never had to ask what or where.  They knew.

              And now I watch my son and his family doing the same thing.  It may be a different routine, but it leads them to the same place—a meeting with the people of God.

              A lot of people think that routine is useless, that since it is so much routine it no longer has any meaning.  But consider this for one minute.  What if we had to do this in secret?  What if the church had been bankrupted because of its beliefs, its leaders fined or even jailed, and our only recourse was to go “underground?”  This country is fast moving in that direction.  These things may not happen in our lifetimes, but our children or grandchildren will almost certainly face them.  I know God has a plan, but His plans have not always meant that none of His people suffered or even died.

              What you look at with disdain today may sometime in the future be a distant memory of how well we had it.  Of families that could meet every Sunday in a place they had pooled their resources to buy, with a sign on the side of the road that proclaimed who we are and what we were doing:  Christians meet here.

              Suddenly, the routine you consider boring and unmeaningful will be the thing you wish you had appreciated far more when you had it.  Think about that and appreciate it like you ought to today.
 
I was glad when they said to me, “Let us go to the house of the LORD!” Our feet have been standing within your gates, O Jerusalem! Jerusalem— built as a city that is bound firmly together, to which the tribes go up, the tribes of the LORD, as was decreed for Israel, to give thanks to the name of the LORD. There thrones for judgment were set, the thrones of the house of David. Pray for the peace of Jerusalem! “May they be secure who love you! Peace be within your walls and security within your towers!” For my brothers and companions' sake I will say, “Peace be within you!” For the sake of the house of the LORD our God, I will seek your good, Psalm 122
 
Dene Ward

Keith had major surgery a couple of springs ago and because of his profound deafness I was with him in the hospital as caregiver 24/7.  We don’t do real sign language, but it is easier for me to communicate with him after 45 years of gradually adapting to his increasing disability.  People who are not used to it simply do not know how, and reading lips is not the easy fix to the problem that most think.
              Unfortunately, this hospital stay coincided with the garden harvest.  The beans, squash, and cucumbers had already begun coming in.  While we were away that week, those vegetables continued to grow.  When we got home, the beans were a lost cause--thick, tough, stringy and totally inedible.  The squash looked like a brass band had marched through, discarding their bright yellow tubas beneath the large green leaves, and the cucumbers as if a blimp had flown over in labor and dropped a litter.  If we expected the plants to continue to produce, I had to pull those huge gourds.  That first morning home I picked and dumped 8 buckets full.
              Gardens are taskmasters.  They don’t stop when it doesn’t suit your schedule.  They don’t wait till you have a free moment.  You must reap the harvest when it is ready or you lose it.  Every morning in late May and early June I go out to see what the day holds for me.  Will I be putting up beans or corn or tomatoes?  Will we have okra for supper or do I need to pickle it?  Are the jalapenos ready for this year’s salsa?  Are the bell peppers big enough to stuff or do I need to chop some for the freezer?  Do I need to make pesto before the basil completely seeds out? 
              And then you look for other problems.  Has blight struck the tomatoes?  Do the vining plants have a fungus?  Have the monarch butterflies laid their progeny on the parsley plants?  Have the cutworms attacked the peppers?  Has the ground developed a bacteria that is killing off half the garden almost overnight?  Do things just need watering?
              Childrearing can be the same way.  Children don’t stop growing until it suits your schedule. They don’t wait till you have a free moment.  You must reap the harvest when it is ready or you lose it.
              God expects you to carefully watch those small plants.  He expects you to check for problems before they kill the plants, and nip them in the bud.  It is perfectly normal for a toddler to be self-centered, but somewhere along the way you must teach him consideration for others.  Are you watching for ways to overcome his innate selfishness and teach him to share? Do you have a plan to teach him generosity?  It won’t happen by itself--you have to do it.
              Are you examining your children every day for those little diseases—stubbornness, a hot temper, whining, disrespect, or the other side of the “leaf”—inordinate shyness, self-deprecation, pessimism.  God expects you to look for problems from the beginning and try to fix them so your child will grow into a happy, well-adjusted adult, able to serve Him without the baggage of character flaws that should have been caught when he was very small.  Parents who ignore these things, thinking they will somehow go away when he grows up, are failing in their duties as gardeners of God’s young souls.  Those things will not disappear on their own any more than nematodes and mole crickets will.
              He also expects you to make clear-eyed judgments.  He may be your precious little cutie-pie, but you need to take off your tinted glasses and take a good look at him.  If you ignore his problems because you are too smitten to see them, you do not love your child as much as you claim.  Whoever spares the rod, hates his son, but he who loves him is diligent to discipline him, Prov 13:24.  When I ignore the blight in my garden, it’s because saving the garden isn’t important to me.
              Have you and your spouse ever just sat and watched your children play?  Have you ever given any thought at all to the things you might need to correct in them?  If your schedule is too busy for that, then you are too busy.  Period.  Your children will keep right on growing, and without your attentive care they may rot on the vine. 
              You are a steward of God’s garden.  The most important thing you can do today is take care of it.
 
Your wife will be like a fruitful vine within your house; your children will be like olive shoots around your table… Psalms 128:3.
 
Dene Ward