My roses are gorgeous.  Besides the Knock-out bush rose, which will truly knock you out several times a year with thirty or forty pink blooms on a three foot high bush, I have three climbers on a wire trellis.  One is that old red standby, Climbing Blaze.  One is its cousin, the red-orange Blaze of Glory, and the third is a yellow variety I have long since forgotten the name of, with the largest blooms of any climber I have ever seen.  Then for something extra, we refused to prune off the limbs that came from the rootstock and now that yellow one also carries with it limb after limb of maroon blooms along the entire length of each branch.  One morning we counted over seventy-five blooms on those three plants.

              I keep the deadheads trimmed to promote blooming, but one week I was a little late getting to that chore and found half a dozen "rose hips," the fruit of a rose that grows where the pollinated flower bloomed, a swelling that gradually turns color as it ripens, usually red or orange, but sometimes purple or even black.  Although you have to be careful with preparation, rose hips can be used for tea, jelly, syrups, seasoning, and even fruit leather.  Occasionally, I have thought about harvesting some and trying the jelly, but here's the deal:  if you let the hips form, you will have fewer blooms.  Right now, I don't need any sustenance from rose hips.  What I want are the beautiful blooms.

              Ah, but while that may be fine for rose hips, it certainly isn't fine for my life as a Christian.  God wants something useful out of me.   He doesn't care how I look on the outside, but only how I act and the state of my heart on the inside.  If all I am is a pretty blossom on the outside, but I am bearing no fruit, whether by good deeds or spiritual growth, I am fit for nothing but to be "cast into the fire and burned" (John 15:6).

              We can take it a step further to whole churches.  The building may be an architectural marvel, as many ancient churches are, but what is going on inside?  Do they produce Christians?  If the pure gospel doesn't echo down their halls, and all they evoke is appreciation of their apses, naves, stained glass, painted ceilings, and sculpted icons, just exactly how is it that God is glorified?  Even so let your light shine before men; that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father who is in heaven. (Matt 5:16)

              Most of the time we understand that the fruit is the important thing.  Here in Florida the orange blossom is the state flower and its smell, as you drive the rolling hills of Central Florida orange groves, nearly overpowering.  In my garden, those pale yellow, maroon-centered okra blooms are truly gorgeous.  But those things and others are grown for their fruit, not their blooms.  Don't let your beautiful rose bushes lead you astray on that.
 
And even now the axe lies at the root of the trees: every tree therefore that brings not forth good fruit is hewn down, and cast into the fire. (Matt 3:10)

Dene Ward

This year we picked our first garden produce in early April.  Finding that first inch long green bean hiding among the thick spade-shaped foliage gives you a thrill, but seeing the first shiny green silks spewing out of the corn shucks and the tassels creeping out of the top positively makes your mouth water.  When it has been nearly a year since sinking your teeth into a row of crisp, juicy, buttered and salted kernels, the anticipation is intense.
 
             If you are not a gardener you might not truly appreciate the sacrifice of the firstfruits under the Old Law.  Every gardener knows that the first picking is the best.  As time passes, the corn and beans toughen.  The tomatoes and peppers become smaller and smaller and rot more quickly from the many blemishes.  The cucumbers turn yellow and overblown before they reach their full length.  Yet we have the frozen food section at the grocery store and a produce section that brings food from places where the firstfruits are just appearing.  Many of us have never seen anything but the firstfruits.

              I’ve often heard that certain frozen and canned vegetables are more reliably good than the fresh.  They are picked at their peak and processed within hours.  We can have the best any time of the year, and we take it for granted.  The devout Israelite never had that opportunity.  It was ingrained in
 him from birth:  the best belongs to the Lord.
 
             All the best of the oil, and all the best of the vintage, and of the grain, the first-fruits of them which they give unto Jehovah...The first-ripe fruits of all that is in their land, which they bring unto Jehovah… (Numbers 18:12-13)
 
             As a dedicated Hebrew watched his crops grow, his cattle bear, his vines hang lower and lower with the heaviness of ripening fruit, he knew that the best would not be for him, but an offering to the Lord.

              And this shall be the priests' due from the people, from them that offer a sacrifice, whether it be ox or sheep, that they shall give unto the priest the shoulder, and the two cheeks, and the maw. The first-fruits of your grain, of your new wine, and of your oil, and the first of the fleece of your sheep, shall you give him. For Jehovah your God has chosen him out of all your tribes, to stand to minister in the name of Jehovah, him and his sons forever. Deuteronomy 18:3-5.

              The pious Israelite knew that the best of the fruits of his labor would be eaten not by his family, but by Jehovah’s priests, his representatives on earth. 

              The first of the first-fruits of your ground you shall bring into the house of Jehovah your God. Exodus 23:19.

              Not just the firstfruits, but the first of the firstfruits—the best of the best—was required in his service to God.

              Most of us have learned that our weekly contribution of money must be “purposed” (2 Cor 9:7).  But we haven’t learned to apply that axiom to every aspect of our lives.  Too often God gets nothing but our leftover time, our leftover energy, our leftover effort.  I’ve heard Christians talk about exercising when their bodies are at their peak, about avoiding certain times of the day for important work, about matching body rhythms to tasks.  Do we ever talk like that our about service to God?  Do we offer service that is well planned, organized for maximum efficiency, and timed for greatest effect?  Yes, we often talk about caring for our temples (bodies) so we can use them for God, but then we use all that energy for everything else instead and still God gets the leftovers.

              The principle of the firstfruits was so important that Hezekiah included it in his great restoration (2 Chron 31:5).  It was deemed so necessary to a true attitude of worship that Nehemiah charged the returning exiles to keep those ordinances in particular (Neh 10:35-39).

              We sing a hymn:  “Give of Your Best to the Master.”  That principle has not changed.  In fact, we are the firstfruits (James 1:18), “brought forth by the word of truth.”  As such, God expects us to give ourselves.  If we do, the rest will follow.  If it hasn’t, maybe we need to take a closer look at our “devotion.”
 
…but they first gave themselves to God…2 Cor 8:5.                                    
 
Dene Ward                                                           

My largest flower bed, a couple of hundred square feet, is about 75% volunteers.  Every year I plant a couple of new things, but by and large the plot reseeds itself with black-eyed Susans, zinnias, marigolds, and Mexican petunias.  Instead of planned formality it becomes a riot of color—orange, red, rust, pink, burgundy, purple, white, and tons of yellow.  About the first of June it is at its best, and has even been featured in the photos of friends and family.

              The black-eyed Susans have a way of coming up just about anywhere—in the field, in the yard, up by the gate, around the bird feeders.  I never know where one will shoot up during any given spring. A shallow ditch runs along the west side of my large riotous flower bed.  This year that ditch was full of black-eyed Susans—even more than in the bed.

              As the spring progressed, that ditch also became full of weeds and grass.  I spent over an hour one morning cleaning it out.  Along with it went some of those pretty, brown-centered, yellow flowers.  I thought about it long and hard, but I knew this:  those weeds would just get more and more entrenched and eventually choke out the flowers anyway.  And even if they didn’t, the flowers would just call attention to the tall grass around them, and all anyone would think would be, “Ugh.”  So I transplanted what I could back into the bed, hoping they would survive the rough treatment of having grass roots pulled out from among their own, and then just chopped out the rest along with all the weeds.  It’s not like I didn’t have a plethora of them anyway.  They are all over the property.

              Which brings me to this:  what we often think of as beauty can be completely overwhelmed by ugliness.  Why can’t our young men see that a beautiful young girl is anything but beautiful when she acts like a trollop and dresses like a harlot?  Why can’t a young woman see that a handsome young man spoils those good looks with the filthy words that come out of his mouth and the intemperate behavior of a drunk, or a lecher, or anything else he allows to control his life?  Why don’t they understand that if they are only attracted by outward beauty, their values are as shallow as a drop of water on a hot griddle, and just as likely to evaporate?  Maybe because we haven’t taught them any better.

              Many years ago I stood in the receiving line at a wedding and heard a few feet away a woman who claimed to be a Christian saying, “He’s such a good looking young man.  It’s a shame he couldn’t find someone prettier.”  Never mind the young bride in question had a beautiful and loving character, she wasn’t pretty enough on the outside.

              I have heard women getting excited over a new dress or a new pair of shoes and then bored about a conversion.  I have seen men eagerly discussing cars or guns or sports, and turning away in apathy at a spiritual discussion.  I have seen people happy to discuss their misfortunes to anyone who will listen, while ignoring their blessings.  Do you think our children don’t see these examples?

              We teach them what to care most about, and they follow our examples all through their lives.  If I want my child to develop a deep relationship with God, then it’s time I had one myself.

              Tell your children what true beauty is, and then show them.  Make yourself beautiful with your good works, with your kind demeanor, with your loving spirit.  If you don’t, they may never learn what constitutes true beauty until they are mired in a horrible relationship that eventually ruins their lives.  The flowers in the ditch may be beautiful, but is that really where you want them to spend their lives?
             
Like a gold ring in a pig’s snout is a beautiful woman with no discretion, Prov 11:22.
 
Dene Ward

Air plants are epiphytes, which means they grow without soil.  They grow naturally on tree limbs or trunks, and can easily be grown in a terrarium indoors—usually those clear round balls people hang in their windows.  They do need watering once a week, and then they need to be allowed to dry out before they are watered again so they won't rot, but otherwise it is pretty hard to kill an air plant.  Some garden shops even call them "unkillable," which is surprising since it looks like we have managed to kill one.
 
             A neighbor gave us a staghorn fern.  It is large, probably weighing in at about forty pounds.  No, we did not kill that one, which would have amounted to burying good money in the ground.  Those things are worth a pretty penny.  Our neighbor has been offered several hundred dollars for her hundred pound specimen.  But we did remove two of the babies from ours, place them in nylon netting and then hang them on one of live oak trunks.  One is doing great, already producing more fronds, but the other is on its last legs, so to speak.  It has been that way for at least two months, which tells me this:  air plants may not be unkillable, but they certainly take a long time to die.

              I think I have seen a few air plants on the pews on Sunday mornings.  I guess they take in enough nutrients from the "atmosphere" they sit in to hang on for a good while.  Yet they never grow, they never bloom and put out new growth, and eventually they turn brittle and gray.  Finally they starve to death and completely dry up.  You would, too, if you only ate one small meal a week. 

              Those spiritual air plants may take years to finally give it up.  The thing is, even a dry, gray air plant can be revived with a good soak in the water.  If we find ourselves at death's spiritual door, we need a good soak in the Living Water to revive us.  After that, it's up to us to keep on growing, taking in what we need to not only survive, but thrive.  Then we can truly be "unkillable."
 
Be horrified at this, heavens; be shocked and utterly appalled. This is the LORD’s declaration.  For My people have committed a double evil: They have abandoned Me, the fountain of living water, and dug cisterns for themselves, cracked cisterns that cannot hold water. (Jer 2:12-13)

​Jesus said, “Everyone who drinks from this water will get thirsty again.  But whoever drinks from the water that I will give him will never get thirsty again — ever! In fact, the water I will give him will become a well of water springing up within him for eternal life.” (John 4:13-14)
 
Dene Ward
 

We planted them late by Florida standards, so I was just pulling carrots the first week of June.  It wasn’t difficult; I pulled the whole row in about 15 minutes.  Still, it was disappointing—a twenty foot row yielded a two and a half gallon bucket of carrots that turned into a two quart pot full when they were cleaned and sorted, cutting off the tops and tossing those that were pencil thin or bug-eaten.
 
             Then I thought, well, consider the remnant principle in the Bible.  Out of all the people in the world, even granting that the population was much less than it is now, only eight were saved at the Flood.  Out of all the nations in the world, God only chose one as His people.  Out of all those, only one tribe survived the Assyrians, and out of all those, only a few survived the Babylonians and only some of those eventually returned to the land.

              Jesus spoke of the wide gate and the narrow gate.  Surely that tells us that though God wishes all to be saved, only a few will be.  So out of a twenty foot row of carrots, I probably threw out half.  Then we threw out a third of those that were too small to even try to scrub and peel.  Yet, we probably did better with our carrots than the Lord will manage with people!  And I learned other principles too.

              When I pulled those carrots some of them had full beautiful tops, green, thick-stemmed, and smelling of cooked carrots when I lopped them off.  Yet under all that lush greenery several had very little carrot at all.  They were superficial carrots—all show and no substance.  Others were pale and bitter, hardly good for eating without adding a substantial amount of sugar.  Then under some thin, sparse tops, I often found a good-sized root, deep orange and sweet.  Yes, they were all the same variety, but something happened to them in the growth process.

              Some of us are all top and no root.  It always surprises me when a man who is so regular in his attendance has so little depth to his faith.  Surely sitting in a place where the Word is taught on a consistent basis should have given him something, even if just by osmosis.  But no, it takes effort to absorb the Word of God and more effort to put it into practice, delving deeper and deeper into its pages and considering its concepts.  The Pharisees could quote scripture all day, but they lacked the honesty to look at themselves in its reflection.

              And there are some of us who have little to show on the outside, but a depth no one will know until a tragedy strikes, or an attack on the faith arises, or a need presents itself, and suddenly they are there, standing for the truth, showing their faith, answering the call.  I knew one man who surprised us all with his strength in the midst of trial, a quiet man hardly anyone ever noticed.  Yet his steadfastness under pressure was remarkable.  I knew another who had been loud with his faith, nearly boasting in his confidence that he was strong, yet who shocked us all with his inability to accept the will of God, his assertions that he shouldn’t have to bear such a burden when he had been so faithful for so long.  Truly those carrot tops will fool you if you aren’t careful.  “Judge not by appearance,” Jesus said, “but judge righteous judgment.”  Look beneath those leafy greens and see where and how your root lies.

              Evidently the principles stand both for man and carrots.  Don’t count on your outward show, your pedigree in the faith.  Develop a deep root, one that will grow sweeter as time passes and strong enough to stand the heat of trial. 

              And don’t assume you are in the righteous remnant if that righteousness hasn’t been tested lately.  God hates more to throw out people than I hate to throw out carrots, but He will.  Don’t spend so much time preening your tops that your root withers.  And finally, only a few will make it to the table; make sure you are one of them.
 
Behold, I stand at the door and knock: if any man hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me. Revelation 3:20           
 
Dene Ward      

For two or three years now, an elephant ear has grown at the southwest corner of the house.  This year several shoots came up, and all of them bloomed.  I never knew an elephant ear bloomed at all.  Here is the amazing part—I never planted an elephant ear bulb.

              I have had caladiums on the west side for many years now.  They are always the last things up--in May--and the first things to die back—in August.  Occasionally, probably due to the vagaries of a North Florida winter, they simply disappear.  That means I go to the farm store and prowl among the bulb boxes to replace them.  The boxes are clearly labeled, including full color pictures.  That way, if I need to replace a red one, I can find it.  If the pink one has gone the way of all things, I look for the pink picture.  There is absolutely no way to make a mistake unless you are blind or just don't look at the boxes.

              But here is the law of nature:  I simply must have planted an elephant ear bulb.  How did this happen without me knowing it?  Probably a clerk put it in the wrong box.  Those bulbs all look pretty much alike.  If the wrong bulb is in the box and someone picks it up, she would never know until the plant came up in the spring.  So in reality, I did plant an elephant ear, albeit accidentally.

              The same thing happens every day of your life.  You are planting seed and don't even know it.  People watch you, especially people who know you claim to be a believer.  You may accidentally plant an elephant ear instead of a caladium just because you weren't paying attention to the picture on the box.  You didn't think it mattered when you lost your temper.  You didn't think anyone would notice when you exacted a little retribution.  You were blissfully unaware of the audience watching your performance with the waitress or the store clerk or someone else who gave you less than you thought your patronage deserved.

              And worse than that, elephant ears bloom.  They spread, just like mine, proliferating into more people who are also affected by your words and your behavior.  You never know how far your influence will go from simple word of mouth or now, through the internet and the thousands who read one post from a person who had to deal with a Christian choosing to act like something else.

              The good news is you can plant caladiums just as easily, and even accidentally.  People notice good these days and it spreads like wildfire—or a virus, I suppose is the term.  You are always planting something whether you know it or not.  Make sure it's caladiums.
 
The sins of some people are conspicuous, going before them to judgment, but the sins of others appear later.  So also good works are conspicuous, and even those that are not cannot remain hidden. (1Tim 5:24-25)                                             
Dene Ward

Crepe myrtles are the super-plant of Florida summers.  Despite the heat, they bloom and seem to thrive, while everything else wilts and often dies.  The garden is over by the first of July, and the flower bed is far past its prime, but those crepe myrtles just keep on going, looking better than ever.  And it's all because of Andre Michaux.
 
             Michaux was not an aristocrat.  Born on March 8, 1746, he was the son of a French farmer who lived in the shadow of Versailles.  He was educated, as most Frenchmen were at the time, in the classics.  At 14, his father took him and his brother out of school to learn agriculture, a respected career at the time, and he soon showed a great affinity for making practically anything grow.

              When his wife of eleven months, Cecile Claye, died a few days after childbirth in 1770, he was devastated.  As we say these days, she was his soulmate, and he never married again.  In fact, the area surrounding him became unbearable with sad memories.  He soon came to the attention of Louis XVI's physician, who persuaded him to study botany.  Before long he became the Royal botanist and was sent on missions to find new trees and plants, specifically to revitalize stripped French forests, and leaving his new son with his grandparents, was happy to get away.  After that his life reads like an adventure novel, with treks to all parts of Asia, Africa, and the wilderness of North America, riding for miles on horseback, canoeing down uncharted rivers, and once being kidnapped by hostile tribes. 

              And here is where we find Andre and the crepe myrtle.  Originally from China it was first taken to England.  No one was impressed.  England was too cold a climate, even in the summer, for it to bloom.  So in 1786, Michaux brought it to the American South instead.  "Voila!" Michaux might have said in his native French.  This plant loved the heat, the humidity, and any type of soil you stuck it in.  He is also credited with introducing the mimosa and the camellia here in the South.

              So thanks to Andre Michaux, we had been looking for crepe myrtles for a while, the bush variety, not the trees.  Nathan and Brooke gave us some shoots that had come up around theirs and we gratefully planted them, and kept on looking for those bushes.  I am still not sure there is actually a difference in the plant, as one article I read said, or if it is all about how it is pruned, but after five or six years we still hadn’t found what we wanted, and that fall noticed the seed pods on our transplants.  We looked at each other and said, “Well, I’ve never heard of doing it before, but why not plant those seeds in some nursery pots?”

              We did, and guess what?  In spite of the fact that we had never heard of doing it before, they grew!  This past spring we transplanted 8 one foot high crepe myrtles from that nursery pot experiment, all of which are blooming just fine in the Florida summer.             

              Haven’t you heard it?  Someone comes up with an idea for spreading the gospel—one that is not beyond the bounds of God’s authority—but someone else pipes up, “I never heard of doing that before,” and expects that to be the end of the discussion.  In fact it often is, especially when prefaced by “Why, I’ve been a Christian for forty years...”  I wonder how many things would never have been done if everyone had that notion? 

              And the king made from the algum wood supports for the house of the LORD and for the king's house, lyres also and harps for the singers. There never was seen the like of them before in the land of Judah, 2 Chronicles 9:11

              The throne had six steps, and at the back of the throne was a calf's head, and on each side of the seat were armrests and two lions standing beside the armrests, while twelve lions stood there, one on each end of a step on the six steps. The like of it was never made in any kingdom, 1Kgs 10:20.

              And because of all your abominations I will do with you what I have never yet done, and the like of which I will never do again. Ezekiel 5:9.

              He has confirmed his words, which he spoke against us and against our rulers who ruled us, by bringing upon us a great calamity. For under the whole heaven there has not been done anything like what has been done against Jerusalem, Daniel 9:12.

              God didn’t seem to have any trouble accepting Solomon’s unique adornments for his throne and for the Temple.  He wasn’t above using punishments the like of which no one had ever seen before.  He certainly didn’t mind confounding the world by sacrificing His Son for our sins.  Aren’t you glad?

              We might be in bad company if “I’ve never heard of doing that before” becomes the source of authority for our actions. 

              As they were going away, behold, a demon-oppressed man who was mute was brought to him. And when the demon had been cast out, the mute man spoke. And the crowds marveled, saying, "Never was anything like this seen in Israel." But the Pharisees said, "He casts out demons by the prince of demons," Matthew 9:32-34.

              Jesus didn’t fit their preconceived notions so they accused Him of consorting with the Devil.  I’ve heard Christians come close when someone suggested something new to reach the lost, especially if it cost any money. 

              God tells us every word and action should be by His authority, not by whether we’ve heard of it or not.  I wouldn’t have any crepe myrtles if we had followed that dictum—and none of us would have a hope of salvation.
 
For from of old men have not heard, nor perceived by the ear, neither hath the eye seen a God besides thee, who works for him that waits for him, Isaiah 64:4.
 
Dene Ward

It may be South Carolina's state flower, but we sure have a lot of it in North Florida.  I had seen those bountiful yellow blooms for years every winter so when we decided to make a large vine trellis, I wanted those, along with Confederate Jasmine, and Purple Painted Trumpets.  We have blooms now from January through June.
 
             But the jessamine also grows wild across the fence and down in the wooded section of the property along the drive.  Cascades of sweet-smelling yellow trumpet flowers hanging from tree limbs, crawling over brush, and dripping over fence lines dot our place with color for weeks.  Even if I have not noticed them yet, high in the treetops, as I walk Chloe around the path I always know when to look up.  Those yellow flowers fall and litter the ground below, still bright yellow, still fresh and unwilted.  You can always tell where they are, or, after the blooming stops, where they have been.  Isn't that the way it should be with a follower of Christ?

              I have read from several different sources, that Christians in the first century always gave themselves away.  No one else was kind to strangers.  No one else took care of the sick and needy.  No one else treated their enemies with thoughtfulness and consideration, even when it cost them their lives.

              We may not be in such dire straits—yet—but how many of the people you come in contact with during the day would shake their heads in amazement at the kindness you showed them—a perfect stranger, perhaps even a stranger who had caused them some trouble?  If they had to give a description of you for some reason, what would they say?  How many people would consider themselves better off for having known you?  How many would say, "My world is a better place for you having been in it?"

              Like the jessamine, people should be able to look around on the ground and know we have been somewhere nearby.  The ground should be covered with the aftereffects of our good works, as bright as those yellow blossoms, as obvious to everyone who passes by.
 
The tongue of the righteous is choice silver; the heart of the wicked is of little worth.  The lips of the righteous feed many, but fools die for lack of sense.​The blessing of the LORD makes rich, and he adds no sorrow with it.  Doing wrong is like a joke to a fool, but wisdom is pleasure to a man of understanding.​  What the wicked dreads will come upon him, but the desire of the righteous will be granted.  When the tempest passes, the wicked is no more, but the righteous is established forever. Prov 10:20-25
 
Dene Ward

We live under a couple of huge live oaks, trees so big it would take half a dozen people holding stretched out hands to reach around them.  That means when I planted a flower bed on the west side of the house under one of those trees, the lee side so to speak, I had to be careful what I put there.  Anything with a “full sun” tag wouldn’t make it.  But it also means that I can grow things outside that others might need to take inside on a frosty morning.  The tree protects them with both the extra degree or two of heat it gives off and its shelter from the settling dew that crisps into frost on a winter morning.

              Isn’t that how we raise our children, on the sheltered side of life, and even on the sheltered side of the church?  That is as it should be.  Children shouldn’t need to worry about where their next meal is coming from.  They shouldn’t be concerned with the office politics their parents must put up with.  They certainly shouldn’t hear about church squabbles.  Your job as a parent is to protect them from those things. 

              But you can’t do that forever.  Sooner or later they need to learn about people, about their imperfections, maybe even the danger they pose to others.  That’s why we teach them that no one should touch them in certain places, that they should never get in the car with a stranger, or accept candy, or look for lost puppies.  It’s unfortunate, but we do it because we love our children.

              I am afraid we are not that smart about teaching our children about problems among brethren.  It isn’t just the false teaching wolves we need to teach them about, though more of that would be helpful.  We seem to have raised a generation that thinks everyone out there is harmless and means well because they speak in syrupy tones and sentimental mush-mouth.  No, the thing we must be most careful about is how they see us handling the disappointments with our brethren.  What they see us do and say can make or break their spiritual survival.

              When Keith was preaching full time, we saw people who claimed to be Christians acting in every way but that.  We saw couples at each other’s throats.  We saw family cliques.  We received physical threats.  We were tossed out on our ears more than once for his preaching the truth.  It may be that the only thing that kept us both faithful was realizing how these things might affect our children if we didn’t handle them carefully. 

              When they were old enough to understand what was happening, we never blamed the church.  We never blamed God.  We told them that sometimes people were not perfect, even good people--sometimes they just made a mistake.  I was NOT going to let what those people had done to us cost my children their souls.  They were what mattered. 

              As they grew older, we talked often about being faithful to God, not to a place or a group.  We reminded them about Judas.  What would have happened if the other apostles had let Judas’s monumental failure run them off?  What about Peter, their erstwhile leader?  If everyone had given up because of his denial there would have been nothing for him to return to upon his repentance.  The mission of the church depended upon those men staying faithful regardless.  God was counting on them.  We told them over and over, you never let what someone else does determine your faithfulness.  God expects you to do the right thing no matter what those people do.  I had to learn to control my depression and discouragement and not give my children cause to leave the Lord. 

              We planted our children on the sheltered side of the house, but then we moved them slowly one foot at a time to a place where the sun would beat down on them and the cold would leave frost on their leaves.  Finally they were as inured as possible from the effects of other people’s failures, including our own.  If they ever fall away, they know better than to blame someone else.

              Be careful what your children hear you say about your brethren.  Be careful what they see in your actions and attitudes.  Sooner or later they will need to stand the heat of the noonday sun and the bitter cold of a spiritual winter.  Don’t give them an easy excuse not to.
 
For there must be also factions among you, that they that are approved may be made manifest among you. 1 Corinthians 11:19
 
Dene Ward

Thirty-three years ago we moved onto this "back forty," across a grassy stretch between two fences, over a low rise deep into the live oaks, around the moss-laden corner and down the hill to what had last been a watermelon field.  We mowed it little by little, landscaped it with a wheelbarrow and a shovel, and began planting—a garden first, then roses, azaleas, blueberries, grape vines, crepe myrtles, daylilies, amaryllises, jasmine, jessamine, and finally, a few annuals.  Then came the trees—a few oaks, including a huge acorn we brought back from a camping trip in north Georgia, a sycamore, a maple, a couple of apples, a peach, and then two pecan trees, right in the middle of the west field.  Finally we had our dream property, but nature refused to cooperate on a few things.
 
             First the apple trees died, then the peaches.  "Too close to oak trees," the county agent said.  Now the blueberries have stopped bearing, and yes, they are right next to what used to be a small oak—but that was three decades ago.  It now towers over them.  And the pecans?  They might be six feet tall after all these years, and we haven't had the first pecan.  "Too close to the pine trees," we were told, pines that at the time were hardly more than fat sticks in the ground, but are now well over forty feet tall.  "They have ruined the soil for pecans."

              So what can we glean from this?  What are we surrounding ourselves with?  What has "ruined our soil?"  What has made us completely unfit for the kingdom?

              The first thing that comes to mind is, Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for you compass sea and land to make one proselyte; and when he is become so, you make him twofold more a son of hell than yourselves. (Matt 23:15).  If we aren't careful, we can stunt the growth of new Christians.  Barnes says they Jews did this by converting for the sole purpose of inflating their numbers and then not teaching the former pagans how to live by God's law.  Add to that, when a hypocrite converts someone, just exactly what does he probably teach them to be?  Another hypocrite just like he was.  So in either case, we have left them as weak pecan trees in the midst of stronger pines who ruin the soil in which they have been planted.

              But let's not forget the obvious application.  Be not deceived: Evil companionships corrupt good morals. (1Cor 15:33)

               This is not about whether or not you should go out into the world to make contacts and teach.  Of course you should.  But soil is where a tree gains its nutrients and its life-giving water.  When I talk to my neighbors, when I work with my colleagues, where do I go for sustenance?  Do I stay with them and imbibe their values, or do I return to my core group, to my support system, to regain my strength?  Am I careful to monitor myself for signs that I may be taking in the wrong kind of nutrition and passing it off as "seeking the lost?" 

               The area in which we plant ourselves should have access to light, not be dwarfed by taller, stronger trees who smother us in their own values.  WE need to be the oaks, not the pecans, the ones who influence the weak, not the other way around.  Just who is influencing whom in your case?

               Stop and check yourself today.  It did not take us thirty years to know we had a problem with these trees.  When a five foot tall tree has not grown an inch in a year, something is amiss.  Have you grown?  Have I?  Are we better than we were five years ago?  Or do we still fight the same battles in the same way with the same meager results—or even fail? 

               So ask yourself, who had you rather spend time with?  Who do you go to for advice?  Who influences your behavior more than anyone else?  If the answer is NOT "godly brothers and sisters," maybe you are nothing more than a stunted pecan tree.  If you think those towering pines and oaks who are affecting your growth have any real respect for you, you are sadly mistaken.  They see you for what you are—a weak, scrawny pecan tree.  So does God.
 
Let no one deceive himself. If anyone among you thinks that he is wise in this age, let him become a fool that he may become wise. (1Cor 3:18)
 
Dene Ward