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

A father who won’t change dirty diapers probably won’t be much use to his children when the messes of life afflict them either. 

Fathers, do not provoke your children to anger, but bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord. (Eph 6:4)

Keith Ward

I am sitting here on the back porch of my children's new home, less than ten miles from the place I spent most of my remembered childhood.  Funny how the memories come flooding back.
 
             The sun seems much brighter here than in north central Florida, where I have spent the majority of my married life.  This may be only 120 miles further south toward the tropics, but I can barely stand to even look out the window without sunglasses on down here.  I remember that bright sun reflecting off the pavement wherever we went.  It almost made you wish for black tar roads—until you tried stepping on those barefoot and came away with something much worse than a sunburn.

              The spring breezes down here are cool and pleasant, but without that underlying chill that demands a sweater at the ready just that little bit further north.  We reveled in those almost perfect days when I was young because all too soon they were gone. 

           The summer heat is still that brutal slam when you step outside, but even so much closer to the coast here in Tampa, the humidity is less than that smothering blanket in the northern interior.  I don't ever recall having to deal with pouring sweat at 8 am.  As a child, I never felt like I might drown if I took too deep a breath!

              And the clockwork arrival of a summer afternoon thunderstorm every day, usually at 4:00.  Gray clouds nearly as dark as night, lightning streaking across the sky, thunder like an explosion, winds that increased 20 or 30 mph and temperatures that dropped twenty degrees in mere minutes, followed by a deluge that had traffic pulling off the road to wait it out, and those unfortunate souls caught outside, drenched in only a few seconds.

              I remember all these things from a childhood of walking three blocks to and from the bus stop, standing outside the locked school doors waiting after the bus had dropped us off and returned for a second route, raking up lawn clippings after my daddy mowed the yard, and swimming at a friend's "lake house."  The feel of this place hasn't changed a bit.

              But the details?  The traffic is thicker and louder.  The outlying areas, including the trailer park where we spent our first year of marriage five miles "out of town," are more densely populated and congested.  What used to be pastureland or strawberry and tomato farms is now subdivision after subdivision, "walled off" from the highway by a white board fence.  As Thomas Wolfe said, "You can't go home again," but really, you can, if your memories are strong, if you can sit still and think and feel all those things from so long ago.  That part hasn't changed a bit.

              I find myself remembering my early years more and more lately.  As good friends, some older but some exactly my age, pass on, those memories wake you up to what is really important.  Now I can look back and realize that I had a great childhood. 

             No, it wasn't perfect.  No, my parents did not do everything exactly right.  Neither did I as a parent.  But I am so grateful to them for teaching me right from wrong and respect for authority, for demanding I take responsibility for the things I said and did, for showing me how to keep on working until the task is done, for refusing to give in to pain, belittling comments from worldly acquaintances, and debilitating disease, but to keep on plugging for the Lord as long as you can draw a breath. 

            I am grateful that they made me go to church, do my homework, and even brush my teeth and clean my room.  I love that they taught me to treat honesty as a lifestyle instead of a sometime convenience, and that I learned from them how to manage both my time and my money.  I am grateful that I saw them respect others' opinions rather than running them down for doing things differently than they did and that they never thought the rules, even the unspoken ones, were for everyone else.  I was more than blessed in the age and place I grew up in to have parents who taught me to be color blind and to glorify God whenever an opportunity came to teach and/or help those who were different from us, and for showing me the examples of kindness and generosity, especially to the innocent and needy.  And most of all, I am indebted to them for raising me to be a God-fearing, obedient servant of the Lord.  I hate to think what my life would be like otherwise.

              And then—what my children's lives would be like otherwise, and my grandchildren's.  Don't ever think that what you view as a dull, routine life did not matter.  Your children and your grandchildren and, should you live that long, your great-grandchildren will carry the memories you helped them make.  It is gratifying that my grandchildren will have memories a whole lot like mine, based not only on where they live, but how they live. 

            And it all started generations before them with simple people struggling through as best they could and, we hope, will continue on for generations to come.
 
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

Today's post is by guest writer Keith Ward.

Then the man said,
“This at last is bone of my bones
and flesh of my flesh;
she shall be called Woman,
because she was taken out of Man.”
Therefore a man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife, and they shall become one flesh (Gen 2:23-24).

The stated reason that a man is to leave his father and mother and cleave to his wife is that she is bone of his bones and flesh of his flesh.  Such closeness does not come with the pronouncement of vows or a simple change of address.  Paul says a man never hates his own flesh but nourishes and cherishes it as Christ does the church.  We are members of Christ's body, bone of his bones, and nourished and cherished by him.  What limits did Christ put on caring for his body, the church?  What need of his bride goes unmet?  Being head requires the love that motivates a husband to do all, not "all he can" but "all" to provide his wife's needs.

Christ's purpose toward his bride was to present the church to himself "not having spot or wrinkle" and becoming "holy and without blemish."  A husband's considered goal must be to nourish his bride into becoming that kind of wife.  The church requires liberal applications of washing with the word to become a present to Christ.  Most brides need nourishing and cherishing to transform them into the wife that is a glorious present to her husband.  Young husbands are not even being taught that they ought to be doing this much less, how to do it.  And, for the most part, the older men have focused only on being providers of the physical necessities and so, have zero experience in this area to pass on about the true meaning of nourishing and cherishing a woman.  [Clue, it takes more than candy on Valentine's Day and roses on your anniversary.]

If a house and a sufficient food supply feeds and warms the outward person, then what feeds a woman's character, her soul?  A man belonging to God must think about this in order to be the head God appointed him to be.  Providing physical needs is the easiest part, even during hard times.  What does your woman need in order to develop mentally, for her character to grow?  Maybe she has been protected and needs to learn to live in the real world; maybe her biblical knowledge is less than it ought to be; maybe she is still too much a child to be raising children.  Add to this, what are the husband's goals.  What if, for example, he hopes to be an elder?  Then what must she become to stand beside him?  

We quickly conclude that every man must develop a plan for them to grow together, to become one.  And, here I must confess that I failed.  We did not have a plan.  We just stumbled along with a Godward attitude and bounced around with a lot of bruises and somehow got better.  OH…. but how much better could we have become had someone shown me the need to develop a concrete plan for our one-ness to grow—bone of my bone, heart of my heart?  It could have been so much more, so much sooner.  Here are a couple of suggestions.

First, plans have to be flexible.  When you marry, you do not know so very much about each other after all.  Then, she will change: bride to wife, mother, empty nester, grandmother; children's teacher to women's Bible Class teacher, teacher's wife, deacon's wife, elder's wife.  Planning for each stage will be different and require Bible study together and practical discussions.

Next, plans must be realistic about her shortcomings and yours, and how you will work toward fixing these problems.  Books and preachers and elders can help, but the husband needs true wisdom to translate that information to meet their personal needs.  This is his duty as head.

Every woman needs emotional warming.  When she is upset about something, just hold her.  Don't formulate a solution, just hold her.  Listen.  Don't tell her how to fix it; [she knows] just listen.  And, then, hold her.  

She needs emotional feeding.  Compliment her.  Tell others how happy you are that she____________.   Encourage her.  Reward her.  There are things she needs that you will never understand.  Your job does not require understanding why, just understanding that she needs these things and giving them to her.
Whoso finds a wife finds a good thing.  But, not all married women are wives as defined in this proverb.  Good wives are born of nourishing and cherishing by good husbands who are determined to fulfill their role as Christ did for the church.

Servants, be submissive to your masters with all respect, not only to those who are good and gentle, but also to those who are unreasonable. (1Pet 2:18).
 
In the same way, you wives, be submissive to your own husbands so that even if any of them are disobedient to the word, they may be won without a word by the behavior of their wives, (1Pet 3:1).

You husbands in the same way, live with your wives in an understanding way, as with someone weaker, since she is a woman; and show her honor as a fellow heir of the grace of life, so that your prayers will not be hindered. (1Pet 3:7).

Keith Ward
 

I find Job to be one of the most perplexing books in the Bible.  After trying many years to understand it, I have come up with this:  the book of Job does not answer the question of why bad things happen to good people; it is merely God saying, “You do not need to know why.  You just need to trust me no matter what.”
 
           We all know the story.  In an attempt to make Job renounce God, Satan took away every good thing in his life.  What did he lose?  Seven sons, three daughters, seven thousand sheep, three thousand camels, five hundred yoke of oxen, five hundred female donkeys (remember, wealth was measured mainly by livestock in the patriarchal times), many servants, standing in the community, and even his health.  About the only things he didn’t lose were his house (42:11), his wife, and his closest friends--if you can call them that.  In fact, when you think about it, Satan probably knew those people would be a help in his own cause, and that is why he left them.  He certainly would not have left Job with a support system if he could have helped it.

            And that brings us to Mrs. Job.  Now let’s be fair.  When Job lost everything, so did she.  And as I have grown older I have learned to be very careful about judging people who are going through any sort of traumatic experience. 

            Keith and I have been through a lot together.  I have had to take food off my plate and put it on my children’s plates because they were still hungry and there was no more.  We have dug ditches next to each other in a driving rainstorm to keep our house from washing away.  I have held a convulsing child as he drove 90 mph to the emergency room thirty miles away.  We have carried all the water we used in the house back and forth for a month because the well collapsed and we could not afford to repair it.  I have bandaged the bullet wounds he sustained as a law enforcement officer.  We have both endured threats on our lives and scary medical procedures.  But all that happened over a period of forty years, not in one day.  And never have I lost a child, much less all of them.  What I would do if I were Mrs. Job, I do not know.  What I should do is easy to say, but however glibly it rolls off my tongue, that does not mean I would have the strength to do it. 

            She was suffering just as much as her husband.  But somehow, Job hung on, while his wife let her grief consume her.  Job actually lost his wife in an even more painful way than death because she failed the test of faith.

            So what happened to her afterward?  Job did have a wife or he would not have had more children (42:13).  Without further evidence to the contrary, the logical assumption is that it was the same wife.  Since they had a continuing relationship perhaps he is the one who helped her, and she repented both of her failure to be a “helper suitable” and of her faithlessness.

            So what should we learn about sharing grief as a couple?  What I hope we would all do when grief and suffering assail our homes is support one another.  The thing that Job did not have from anyone is the thing that should make all single people desire a good marriage:  support and help.  Troubles should pull us together, not tear us apart.  What I cannot lift by myself, I can with help. Sometimes he is the reason she makes it over a personal hill and other times she is his light to make it through the dark places, and that is how God intended it.

            Now here is the question for each of us.  If Satan were going to test my spouse, would he take me, or leave me?
 
Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their labor.  For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow, but woe to him who is alone when he falls and has not another to lift him up.  Again, if two lie together, then they have warmth, but how can one be warm alone?  Eccl 4:9-11
 
Dene Ward

A continuing series by guest writer Keith Ward.

"Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh" (Gen 2:24). 

Though we often use the word, "cleave," in our wedding ceremonies, elsewhere in our times it is mainly used of a meat cleaver that cuts things apart.  Certainly not what God intended by Moses' inspired comment!  The Hebrew word means to cling but few translations use that and also have the true meaning of "one flesh."  The word for cleave also means "adhere," in our vernacular, "stick like glue" or to "cling like Velcro."  Obviously God intends that the husband hold the woman fast to him in a special way that is unique, different from any other relationship.

Unquestionably, God intends "one flesh" to be a full-time occupation and it is the man's primary responsibility.   "What God joined together" stays together though geography separates the couple by hundreds of miles.  The importance of developing this relationship is emphasized by the use of the same word in the same way in the Shema, "Hear, O Israel: Jehovah our God is one Jehovah" (Deut 6:4).  Though we understand that God is three persons, He is ONE.  In the same way, the husband is to leave all else to make himself one with his wife.  Perhaps God intended this relationship as it approaches its ideal to teach us about Him.  If so, treating it casually reflects our disdain for God.
 
Becoming one first requires leaving. Moses refers to "father and mother" as the ultimate that a man must put behind him. They were the first people he knew and the first and primary relationship in his life. Again, geography has little to do with leaving and especially in that society where generations of extended family lived together. Jacob was probably not the first "Mama's boy" and he certainly has not been the last. Not only must he leave, the husband must act so decisively that his wife is confident of her primacy. "The way Mama did it" and large amounts of time spent with his family with or without the wife indicate a failure to leave. He must never allow his parents to criticize his wife even if that requires strong measures. I often tell Dene that she is my "only."  My actions prove that is not just "sweet nothings."
 
Parents are not the only obstruction to leaving and cleaving. Many men I have worked with spent more time hunting and fishing with their buddies than they spent with their wives. Hobbies can be wonderful and useful to a man's character, but when they regularly occupy more time than she does, the wife is justified in feeling that she is nothing more than a cook and a sex object to him. Couples who both work outside the home and for whom household chores occupy much of their time together must make special effort to keep their relationship strong. The fact is that they both spend more time with and have more conversation with co-workers than they do with one another. Children become another separator. If care is not taken, time will pass and no glue will remain to adhere them to one another; occasional sex will become the only sense of "one flesh" that remains.
 
Oneness must be nurtured with care—make mutual decisions about everything: where to live, whether to take a promotion, where to worship, the standards and rules to apply to raising children, whether she works outside the home and the division of labor for the housework. What others think does not matter. Otherwise, you neither left nor are you cleaving. A husband demonstrates commitment to his wife by never even thinking about flirting with another woman and the wife should see this and have this confidence. He must never criticize her to others, and care must be taken to not fight in front of the children. Not only must he not criticize, he must not allow others to criticize her in his presence. I should not have to say that women never appreciate male humor and she is well aware that "many a truth is spoken in jest. Don't. Just Don't.
 
Timothy was likely in his forties when Paul admonished, "flee youthful passions" (2Tim2:22). If he was not speaking of "midlife crises" than application certainly exists. Men begin to realize their dreams conceived in youthful idealism will never happen and they go wild in pursuit of youthful fancies. Observation leads me to believe that well over half of all Corvettes are owned by men over 40 which is also true for Harley motorcycles. "Arm candy" for gray headed men has spawned a major industry in Viagra and Cialis. Leaving and cleaving and one flesh are left in Satan's dust as husbands think of little but Self.
 
Many married couples have lived together for years in various residences and are no more married than the shacked-up couple who sees no need for a legal piece of paper to validate their relationship. The unmarried couple has a point, a piece of paper does not make a couple married in the sense God intends—He must leave and cleave, she must submit, he must dwell with her according to knowledge, he must love her as Christ loved the church, he is to lead and he is to nourish and cherish her. Notice how heavily these foundations of marriage are weighted toward the husband—this is the responsibility of being head. "Head" is not a right. If theirs is not a marriage that emulates the relationship among the Godhood, then the failure is his.
 
Servants, be submissive to your masters with all respect, not only to those who are good and gentle, but also to those who are unreasonable. (1Pet 2:18).

In the same way, you wives, be submissive to your own husbands so that even if any of them are disobedient to the word, they may be won without a word by the behavior of their wives, (1Pet 3:1).

You husbands in the same way, live with your wives in an understanding way, as with someone weaker, since she is a woman; and show her honor as a fellow heir of the grace of life, so that your prayers will not be hindered. (1Pet 3:7).
 
Keith Ward