“Mommy, those green blackberries burnt my mouth.”

We were picking peas in a field behind a member’s farmhouse late one afternoon.  We had just moved to the area and had not had time to plant our own garden, so we were happy to do all the free U-picks our brethren offered.  Nathan, who was only 13 months old, was playing up at the house under the watchful care of the grandmotherly farmwife.  Three year old Lucas wanted to come “help,” so he trailed along behind us, picking a pea pod every so often, but usually exploring.

It took a minute for what he had said to register.  Then, with a knot of fear growing in my stomach, I calmly asked, “What blackberries?  Show me.” 

He led us back about twenty feet, to a place in the fencerow.  Instead of blackberry vines, we saw a four foot high green plant, with spade-shaped leaves and round green berries—nightshade.  We dropped our buckets, pulled the plant, scooped him up, and headed for the nearest emergency room, thirty miles east.  As soon as we arrived, Keith dropped me at the door.  I ran in and practically threw both Lucas and the plant on the registration desk. 

“My baby ate this,” I managed between gasps.

I had found the trick to immediate action in an emergency room.  They ran both him and the plant back behind the swinging doors.  I, of course, was taken to Paperwork Central—they never forget the documentation so they will be paid.  It probably did not help that I had come straight from the field, sweat, dirt, and all, and so did not look particularly solvent.

Two hours later we left with a completely sobered three- year-old, promising us he would never eat green blackberries again.  As far as I know, he hasn’t!

So why are we so much less careful about the poison that sickens our souls?  Spiritual nightshade surrounds us every day of our lives.  Somehow we think we are immune to its effects.  We go places we should not, associate with people we should not, dally with things that are as dangerous as a poisonous snake, and pooh-pooh anyone who dares tell us to be careful.

I am not just talking about things like alcohol and sexual immorality.  Do you realize that wealth in the scriptures is never pictured as anything but dangerous to our souls?  But what do we wish for when the subject of wishes comes up?  And what do we always say?  “I could handle it.  I would never use it the wrong way.  It would never get the best of me.”  What do we tell our young people when they say the same things about drugs and alcohol? 

Arrogance will always get the best of us in all these cases.  Might as well handle a cobra.  Might as well drink some cyanide. 

Might as well eat a pie made of green blackberries.

For [the] rock [of the wicked] is not as our Rock...For their vine is of the vine of Sodom, and of the fields of Gomorrah; their grapes are grapes of gall, their clusters are bitter.  Their wine is the poison of serpents and the cruel venom of asps, Deut 32:31-33.

Dene Ward

Tarragon is a difficult herb.  It’s even hard to find at the local garden shops.  You have to go to the independent, specialty shops where everything costs twice as much.  Then when you get it, it’s hard to grow.  Not only is the flavor delicate, so is the plant.  I have killed more than my share of these fragile babies. 

But speaking of delicate flavor, it is almost paradoxical that something so delicate is also so distinctive.  Like cilantro, you know when a dish has even a hint of tarragon in it, but at the same time it won’t take over.  Tarragon in a chicken salad makes it a main event, and I have a pork chop recipe with tarragon cream sauce that turns that mundane diner staple into fine dining.

As I said, I usually wind up killing whatever tarragon plants I manage to find.  I always thought it was the heat, but maybe it’s me.  Somehow, last year’s plant survived until frost.  Then I got another wonderful surprise.  This spring it came back from the root.  I didn’t believe it at first.  It looked like tarragon, and it was in the same spot as the plant last summer, but I still didn’t believe it—not until I pinched off a leaf and smelled it.  Yesssss!  This year I don’t have to comb the garden shops looking for another one to kill.  It’s right there in my herb bed, waiting for its execution day.

Speaking of these sorts of things, I find it bewildering that people get themselves so wrought up over whether or not the Lord’s church existed somewhere in hiding in the Middle Ages.  Maybe it did; maybe it didn’t.  Maybe there actually was a spell when no one alive even bothered trying to follow the New Testament pattern.  Why should that affect my faith?  The seed is the Word of God, Luke 8:11.  We still have that seed.  We can still plant it and it will produce after its own kind, just as God ordained for every seed from the moment He created the first one. 

Sometimes we keep leftover seeds in the freezer.  If we had a bumper crop and I put up way too much corn, I may not plant any the next year, or even the next.  But when I get that seed out, as I did a few weeks ago, we can plant it again, and lo and behold there is now corn growing in the garden, a few silks already turning brown. It will happen every time we plant that seed, no matter how long it’s been since the last time we planted it.  The same will happen when we plant the Word of God, the seed that produces Christians.

And what’s more, we still have the Root, and that’s even better.  As long as the gospel exists and we can preach about that Root, the one who came to earth, lived as we do, died, and rose again, faith will spring up from that Root, and the Lord’s body will once again exist. 

Why is this so surprising?  Why indeed should it bother me one way or the other if I trust God?  He ordained this rule.  Who could ever undo it?  And Abraham believed God and it was reckoned unto him for righteousness. (Rom 4:3).  Do you believe Him?

And again Isaiah says, "The root of Jesse will come, even he who arises to rule the Gentiles; in him will the Gentiles hope." May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope. Romans 15:12-13

(For this recipe, go to "Dene's Recipes" page)

Dene Ward

As soon as the garden is planted it starts—our evening stroll to see how it fares, what has come up, what is bearing, what is ripe and ready to pick the next morning, which plants show signs of disease or insects, and then, what should we do about it.  It’s a habit, a ritual almost, one we look forward to every year.

Sometimes I think that God must love gardens too.  The first place he built for man, the perfect place, was a garden--and Jehovah planted a garden, eastward, in Eden, and there he put the man whom he had formed, Gen 2:8.  And it was in that garden that He walked with man every evening.  I wonder what they talked about.  Probably a lot of the things we talk about—but then maybe not.

What will be ripe tomorrow?  Yes, they might have discussed that, because Eden probably produced a bumper crop.  Do we need to spray for bugs?  No, not that, for bugs were not a problem.  What will be ready for supper tomorrow night?  Yes, the choice was probably endless.  Do we need to pull the plants that are infected with blight so they won’t infect others?  No, definitely not that question--at least not at the beginning.  Eventually, though, Adam was discussing with Eve exactly what we discuss about our far from perfect garden.  Yes, we need to spray.  Yes, we need to water.  Yes, we need to pull those weeds out before they choke out the plants, and I sure hope there’s enough produce to put up for next year too!

We each have a garden.  The Song of Solomon uses the term to refer to the physical body and chastity.  I have no trouble using it to refer to my soul as well.  Shouldn’t I be out there every evening with God, surveying that garden, examining it for pests and disease, looking for wilt and fungus, making decisions about how to save that garden and make it bear the most fruit for the Lord?

Examine yourselves, to see whether you are in the faith. Test yourselves. Or do you not realize this about yourselves, that Jesus Christ is in you?--unless indeed you fail to meet the test! 2 Corinthians 13:5

Prove me, O LORD, and try me; test my heart and my mind. Psalms 26:2

Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts! And see if there be any grievous way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting!  Psalms 139:23-24

We even sing that last one.  Do we mean it?  Do we really want to look closely enough to see how to properly tend our gardens, gardens that belong to God?  Are we really willing to look through His word long enough and deeply enough to find our faults and fix them?

Every evening God expects you to meet Him in that garden of a soul, to plant His word in it and tend it as necessary, even if it becomes painful.  He knows it is the only way for that garden to produce, so that you can someday be in the new Garden of Eden with Him.

The righteous flourish like the palm tree and grow like a cedar in Lebanon. They are planted in the house of the LORD; they flourish in the courts of our God. They still bear fruit in old age; they are ever full of sap and green, to declare that the LORD is upright; he is my rock, and there is no unrighteousness in him. Psalms 92:12-15

Dene Ward

It’s just beginning to bloom again, covered with buds as thick as deep pile carpeting…

Six years ago we planted a jasmine vine.  I had always wanted one twining up a trellis by the side of my porch, but being married to a man with allergies made that impossible.  That summer, though, he wanted to do anything and everything for me, at least the small things we could afford, so he bought me a jasmine vine.  It is not by the porch—I wouldn’t let him suffer just for my sake--so it is next to the drive about seventy-five feet away from the house. 

He built one lollapalooza of a trellis out of a cow panel and an antenna mast.  It stands about fifteen feet in the air.  In just two years that dark green vine has grown up and over the top and this time of year is covered with tiny, white blossoms.  And the fragrance!  When the wind is right, you can smell it fifty feet away.  I would know it was there whether I could see it or not—which one day may be important.

I think I would like to be like a jasmine—vines trailing out everywhere, winding in and out of the squares of its “trellis,” covered in beautiful blooms, and sending out a sweet smell that tells everyone it is there, even when they cannot otherwise see it.  But when I look in “the mirror” I am a long way from that ideal, much pruning and fertilizing still to be done. 

If I am going to effect others I need to involve myself with them, whether it is convenient or not.  If I am to present a beautiful picture to them, I need to follow in the footsteps of my Savior, who served others to the ultimate degree.  If I am to influence those who do not know me, I must influence those who do by an example of love, longsuffering, and faith that continues on even in the face of trials. 

The only way to accomplish all of that is to constantly fill myself with His word, to talk with Him often, to make others the center of my life rather than myself, to watch that tongue of mine!  I must give with no thought of reciprocity from others; give of myself, of my time, of my labor, of my care and consideration, regardless of what others may do. 

The more I look at this, the more I think I will never make it.  But God has made a jasmine vine, a gift from a man who can hardly tolerate them due to the physical discomfort they cause him, yet who gave it nevertheless.  That is my inspiration.  Every time I walk past it, its sweet fragrance reminds me to pray for help and, in praying, have faith that I will receive.

I will heal their backsliding; I will love them freely, for my anger is turned away from them.  I will be as the dew unto Israel; he shall blossom as the lily and cast forth his roots as Lebanon.  His branches shall spread and his beauty shall be as the olive-tree, and his smell as Lebanon.  They that dwell under his shadow shall return; they shall revive as the grain and blossom as the vine; the scent of it shall be as the wine of Lebanon…Who is wise that he may understand these things?  Prudent that he may know them?  For the ways of Jehovah are right, and the just shall walk in them; but transgressors shall fall therein.  Hosea 14:4-7,9

Dene Ward

In drought times, not very well.  I remember a particular summer not too long ago.  The ground was powder dry.  Even my dog raised a dust cloud chasing a tennis ball.   In three months we had only 6/10 of an inch of rain.  Dew hadn’t even fallen.

Ordinarily, we plant our garden in mid-March, and it is well up and growing by the end of the month.  That year we followed the usual pattern, and by April 1 we were replanting—nothing came up in many rows and the rest were sparse.  If you are a gardener, you know that squash is the easiest thing in the world to grow.  You can practically throw it at the ground and within a month you can supply a city the size of New York.  After two weeks we didn’t even have one half inch seedling in the whole row!

So water it, you say?  We did.  Faithfully.  Every evening.  Still nothing.

When we decided to replant, we went down the same rows, planting the same things.  When we dug new rows, there lay the old seed, looking just like it did when it came out of the package, no germination at all.  You know what we discovered?  The watering job we did was not deep enough to reach the seeds, in spite of the fact that we spent two hours at it every night.

So we replanted, this time watering the row before we covered it, and watering much longer every night afterward.  The seeds came shoving their way up through the dirt before a week was out, and some of the old ones sprouted too.  It wasn’t long till people went running when they saw us approaching with our buckets of squash.

Even after 32 years of gardening we learned something.  Growth happens with deep watering, not shallow.  And it takes an effort to get it as deeply as you should.  It’s not something you can do with a half-hearted, rushed effort.   We’re so used to “labor-saving devices” that I wonder if we even recognize real work, because that’s what it takes.

God’s people in the Old Testament had a watering problem as well.  They thought that serving God was simply a matter of following prescribed rituals.  Despite daily reciting a passage from the Torah that began Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all they heart, they never got within an inch of their hearts.  They “celebrated” the Sabbath, all the time watching the clock, hoping it would be over with soon.  They offered sacrifices, the lame and blind, and anything else that didn’t cost them too much.  They fasted, a ritual they called “afflicting the soul,” which never once touched their souls. 

Now, how is my spiritual garden growing?  Maybe I need to do some deep watering.

Is this the fast I have chosen?  The day for a man to afflict his soul?  Is it to bow down his head in a rush and to spread sackcloth and ashes under him?  Will you call this a fast and an acceptable day to Jehovah?  Is not this the fast that I have chosen:  to loose the bonds of wickedness, to undo the bands of the yoke, and to let the oppressed go free, and that you break every yoke?  Is it not to deal your bread to the hungry, and that you bring the poor that are cast out to your house?  When you see the naked that you cover him, and that you hide not yourself from your own flesh and blood?...If you take away from the midst of you the yoke, the pointing finger, and the malicious talk, and if you draw out your soul to the hungry and satisfy the afflicted soul, then shall light rise in darkness, and your obscurity be as noonday.  And Jehovah will guide you continually, and satisfy your soul in the dry places, and make strong your bones and you shall be like a watered garden, and like a spring of water, whose waters fail not.  Isa 58:5-11

Dene Ward

We plant a lot of tomatoes in our garden.  We have learned by trial and error that it is far better to plant more than you think you can possibly use of several different varieties.  Some years one type produces better than the others.  Some years one will be wiped out by a disease that doesn’t touch the others.  Usually there is neither rhyme nor reason for any of it.  By planting several types, we can be sure to have some, if not all, bear fruit, and by planting too many, if it’s a bad year, we still have enough.  On the other hand, if it’s a good year, we can be generous with friends and neighbors.

We have also learned which types work best in our area.  For a long time we could always find what we needed in plants, but gardening has become the fashion now, and just like clothes, certain types of tomatoes are popular, and practicality seldom has anything to with it.  You used to have to search far and wide for heirlooms.  Now you must search far and wide for the ordinary hybrids.  The problem with heirlooms, at least in our part of the country, is that they bear about 5% as much as the ordinary hybrid.  We usually plant 90-95 tomatoes to fill our needs in fresh tomatoes, canned tomatoes, tomato sauce, and salsa.  If we used heirlooms exclusively, we would need to plant nearly 2000.

If we can’t find the reliable varieties of plants in the garden shops any longer, we can find their seeds in at least one of the half dozen seed catalogues we receive.  It’s a lot more trouble.  In our small home, we have to use the entire back bedroom to lay out the seed sponges and set up the grow-lights.  When they outgrow the sponges, they are still too small and delicate to place outdoors and the weather still too cold, so we have to transplant each one into a larger cup—all 90, one by one.  Then, when the weather finally turns, we have to carry them outside every day, a little longer every day, to harden them for the final transplant into the garden where they will be prey to sun, wind, insects, birds, and animals.  Because of our careful preparation, most of them make it.  We seldom lose more than half a dozen.

All that because fashion has taken over in gardening instead of common sense and proven track records.  It happens in every area of life. 

Don’t get me started on the organic craze.  People had been eating organic foods for thousands of years when Jesus came along and there were still plenty of sick people for him to heal and raise from the dead.

Everyone knows how music changes.  As far as our songs in the assembled worship, we are seeing a whole lot more rhythm and a whole lot less depth in the words.  Or, “Wow!” someone says—usually someone with a music background—“this one actually uses Dorian mode!”  Yes, but can an untrained congregation sing it easily enough to focus on the lyrics and actually do some “teaching and admonishing?”

Teaching has its fads.  We gave up phonics and wound up with “Johnny Can’t Read.”  In Bible classes we stopped teaching Bible facts to our children because we wanted them to develop the “heart” and not just the knowledge.  So now we have ignorant people tearing churches apart over things they should have been taught as children.  We used to be known for our Bible knowledge—now many of us are as clueless as any unbeliever on the streets.

Yes, some things are changeable expedients.  However, those things should be carefully weighed not only for their rightness, but also for the sake of pure old common sense.  Do we want to do it because it will work better for this group of people, or because everyone else is doing it?  Some of us wind up planting 2000 tomatoes just so we look good to the world, when 90 of the right kind would do just fine, probably better, at fulfilling the need. 

The seed is the word of God, Jesus said.  Maybe it’s time we used the seed instead of chasing around looking for something new and exciting.  God’s way works, but only if you know it, and only if you use it.

Whoever is wise, let him understand these things; whoever is discerning, let him know them; for the ways of the LORD are right, and the upright walk in them, but transgressors stumble in them. Hosea 14:9

Dene Ward

The bulk of our winter this year was warm, so warm the blueberries began to bloom in January.  Not good, for up here in North Florida we could be sure more frosts and freezes awaited us.  But there was nothing we could do about it, so we went on about our business, and one morning as I pulled myself along with the trekking poles, walking Chloe around the property, I suddenly came upon a yellow daisy right in the middle of a patch of green grass, another product of the warm spell.  It sat there only four inches off the ground and a little scraggly.  Still, it made me smile.

Then I had the flu and found myself in the sickbed for over a week.  Finally, the chest congestion drained, the ears stopped aching, and the nose could suddenly breathe again, so after one more day of recovery, I took Chloe on another walk.  As I came around the blueberries I saw it again, still hanging on in spite of the now cooler temperatures--and once again I smiled.

I wonder if we aren’t supposed to be like that lone little daisy out in the world.  Do we make anyone smile?  Or are we just like everyone else, hurrying along, consumed with ourselves and our business, impatient, or even angry, with the ones who get in our way and slow us down?  We have an obligation to others we pass along the way. 

You shall not see your brother's donkey or his ox fallen down by the way and ignore them. You shall help him to lift them up again. Deuteronomy 22:4

That one is pretty easy, we say.  Who wouldn’t stop for a brother on the side of the road whose donkey (or car) was broken down?  Keith stood by the side of the road next to a disabled car one night, and watched brother after brother pass him on the way to the gospel meeting that was being held just a mile or two down the highway, so don’t be too sure of yourself.

Yet the law also says this:  "If you meet your enemy's ox or his donkey going astray, you shall bring it back to him. If you see the donkey of one who hates you lying down under its burden, you shall refrain from leaving him with it; you shall rescue it with him, Exodus 23:4-5.  How many of us feel any obligation at all to bear the burden of an enemy, or just a stranger? 

Let’s not make it one of those situations where we excuse ourselves by talking about crime and good sense.  How about this?  Did you make the cashier’s day a little brighter or a little tougher when you went through the line this morning?  Did you stop and help the harried young mother who dropped her grocery list and sent coupons scattering across the aisle, or did you sigh loudly at the inconvenience of her, her cart, and her three rowdy children because you were in a hurry to get home?  Did you make small talk with the waitress who poured your coffee, or did you treat her like a piece of furniture?  Did you slow down and make room for the car that cut you off in traffic, or did you talk and gesticulate and lay on the horn long enough for someone to think we were in an air raid?  Did you make anyone smile this morning?

At my first defense, no one came to stand by me, but all deserted me, Paul said in 2 Tim 4:16.  Nearly impossible to imagine, isn’t it?  Yet the night before Keith was scheduled to testify in a trial where we knew the only defense was to try to discredit him, a brother decided he needed to call him up and castigate him for an imagined slight, something that he had simply misunderstood.  When all we can think about is ourselves instead of bearing one another’s burdens, Gal 6:2, instead of helping the weak, 1 Thes 5:14, instead of comforting one another, 2 Cor 1:4, that’s exactly what happens.

Yes, we get comfort from God, but guess how that often happens?  But God, who comforts the downcast, comforted us by the coming of Titus, 2 Corinthians 7:6.  We are the comfort that God gives.  We are the help that He provides. It’s up to us to pay attention and think of someone besides ourselves.

Today, be a January daisy, something lovely and unexpected in the life of someone who needs it, whether a brother, or an enemy, or just a stranger.  Make someone smile.

Anxiety in a man's heart weighs him down, but a good word makes him glad. Proverbs 12:25
I rejoice at the coming of Stephanas and Fortunatus and Achaicus… for they refreshed my spirit... 1 Corinthians 16:17-18

Dene Ward

All summer I had been watching those monarch butterflies flit over my flower beds. Every couple of days I carefully checked the herb garden twenty feet away for signs of their caterpillars.  That’s what I read somewhere—that monarch butterfly caterpillars are the dreaded parsley worms that can wreak havoc on that herb almost overnight.  Nothing happened.  My parsley grew well and was never infested.  Somehow I got off easy this year.  I thought.

Then in mid-October we went away for a week.  We returned on a Friday night, after dark, too late to see much but the back porch by the light hanging outside the back door.  The next morning we stepped out for a stroll and saw what had happened.  Every sprig of parsley was completely bare, only the bright green stems sticking up completely naked—except here and there for the bright green worm still clinging to the bush it had just decimated.  I am not so paranoid as to think that somehow they all got together and planned the attack for while we were away, but it was certainly suspicious.

Satan, on the other hand, is perfectly capable of planning his attacks that way.  He waits until we are most vulnerable.  He waits until we have experienced a crisis in our lives, until we are frustrated by circumstances, until our defenses are down, and then he zooms in for the kill.  Being on the alert when you are tired and hurt is not easy, but that is exactly what we must do, standing guard as a soldier in the Lord’s army. 

One of the greatest benefits of being in the family of God is having people who care enough to watch your back.  All of us should be aware of the crises in our brothers and sisters’ lives.  Too often we are so consumed with our own affairs that we don’t have time to watch out for others, and that means we are too consumed, period.  Then we wonder how a brother could fall so far, why a sister was caught up in such a sin, why a family has “suddenly” disappeared from among us.  How in the world could those things have happened?  They happened in part because everyone was too busy to notice.

What do you do when announcements are made in the assembly?  Is that when you spend your time arranging your books, glasses, and children on the pew, the time you flip to the first song and look through it, the time you know you can spend a little longer in the ladies’ room before you need to be seated?  Those announcements should be your greatest tool the next week as you figure out what you need to do for whom, how you can encourage a brother or sister in distress, what you might say to one whose soul is in danger.  How much do you hear when you are finishing up a conversation that has no bearing on a soul, or racing to your pew before the first song begins?  Those pieces of news are about service, and that is the most important part of a Christian’s life, considering one another…Heb 10:24.

Be aware of the timing in the lives of others too.  Is it the first anniversary of a widow’s loss?  Is it a season that makes being alone that much harder for the single?  Are ordeals approaching in people’s lives that might make them more prone to Satan’s attacks?  We have a job to do; we have service to offer; we have comfort to give and sometimes exhortation and rebuke when we see those attacks making progress in the lives of another.

If we see them.  If we care.  If we aren’t so wrapped up in ourselves that we miss the attacks and wake up one morning to an almost overnight slaughter in the garden of God.

Wherefore lift up the hands that hang down, and the palsied knees; and make straight paths for your feet, that that which is lame be not turned out of the way, but rather be healed, Hebrews 12:12-13.

Dene Ward

Last spring, just like every spring for the past 37 years, we planted the garden. That early in the year, the heat is not bad, the humidity is low, and the sub-tropical sun leaves us with only a moderate sunburn.  We came in with dirty clothes and aching backs, sat down together, leaned forward with crossed fingers on each hand held tightly at our temples, squeezed our eyes shut and said, “I hope, I hope, please, please, please grow.” 

Do you for one minute believe that?  No, we counted five days ahead, and then went out that evening and looked for what we were sure would be there, seedlings poking their heads through the clods of earth, and sure enough, there they were.

Our definition of hope is very much as I described, like a couple of middle school girls who “hope” a certain cute boy will look their way, or a teacher will change the due date on a big project, or a “mean” girl won’t spread some sort of embarrassing news about them.  “Please, please, please, maybe, maybe, maybe.”  That is not the Bible definition of hope. 

I knew that, but I am not sure how much I really understood it until I did a study on hope and found passage after passage that made it abundantly clear.

…Waiting for our blessed hope, Titus 2:13.  That’s “waiting” like waiting for the bus at the regular stop, not like you just walked out one morning with absolutely no knowledge of the city transit system, sat down on the side of the road and “hoped” you had guessed right.

…The full assurance of hope, Heb 6:11, not just a hint that it might be possible, but completely sure it will happen.

Hope is a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, Heb 6:19.  How would you like to use the hope we often express as a “maybe” as your anchor in the middle of a storm?

…Hope of eternal life, which God, who cannot lie, promised, Titus 1:2. 

Peter says that our salvation is “ready to be revealed,” 1 Pet 1:5, a salvation he makes synonymous to the “hope” in verse 3.  It’s like a portrait on an easel covered by a satin cloth, just waiting for the unveiling.  God has prepared that salvation “from the foundation of the world,” Matt 25:34.  No one is up there still hammering away on the off chance it might be ready when you need it.  It is already there, available whenever the Lord decides to give it.  Sure.  Certain.  There is nothing cross-your-fingers “maybe, maybe, maybe,” about it.

Farming is tricky enough with weather, pests, and plant diseases abounding.  If a man had to wonder whether or not a seed would sprout where he planted it, who would ever even try?  Paul uses that very example in 1 Cor 9:10: for our sake it was written that he who plows ought to plow in hope, and he who threshes to thresh in hope of partaking.

Our hope is like planting seeds.  They will come up, and it will come about.  It’s time we left middle school behind with its string of maybes, and became adults who understand the assuredness of our hope, and then use that certainty to strengthen us in whatever situations life holds.

Now our Lord Jesus Christ himself, and God our Father who loved us and gave us eternal comfort and good hope through grace, comfort your hearts and establish them in every good work and word,  2 Thessalonians 2:16-17.

Dene Ward

I had a beautiful flower garden this year—brick red gaillardia, their blooms lined with yellow-gold trumpet-shaped petals; pink, magenta, white, and burgundy cosmos fluttering on feathery spring green plumes: hardy, yellow gloriosa daisies shining like beacons among the leaves; yellow, orange, and rust colored marigolds perched on the bushiest plants I had ever seen in that flower; bright purple Mexican petunias who, though they shed their blooms every night, never failed to greet me with another show of dozens every morning; and zinnias sporting every color imaginable--white, yellow, salmon, cherry red, fire engine red, bright orange (Gator orange NOT Volunteer orange), purple, pink, lime green, and even variegated colors, growing as tall as five feet before the summer was out.

Unfortunately, those zinnias began growing something besides blooms. It started at the bottom, with black-rimmed white spots on just a few lower leaves.  It spread from one plant to several in an area until finally it had touched every single plant.  Then it began its inexorable climb up until only the top few leaves remained green, and only the newest blossoms, barely opened from the bud, were clean.  It took me awhile to realize what was happening, and by the time I figured it out, it was too late.

Still, I didn’t want to pull the plants.  They did have a little green left at the top, and where there is life there is hope, right?  Finally after several mornings of looking out on what had once brought joy to my mornings and seeing instead a mass of black leaves and stems, I made a decision.  Why did I have these flowers anyway?   Because they were beautiful, and even I could see all that color from a distance.  Were they beautiful any longer?  No, they were about as ugly as they could be.  And the longer I waited, the further that fungus spread.  The gaillardia were already infected, and a few of the marigolds.

So the next day I went out and began pulling.  It wasn’t even laborious.  Those plants were so sick that they came right up out of the ground, and do you know what I found underneath?  New seedlings growing from the deadheads I had been cutting all summer.  If I had left those ugly things much longer, the baby plants would have been choked out by the much larger roots and then infected as well.  Now they can breath and grow, and the sunlight reaches their tiny leaves. I have already gotten out the copper spray, a fungicide that is even considered “organic,” not that I would care since my goal is to save those new flowers no matter what it takes, and they aren’t on the menu anyway.

Still, it was hard to make that decision.  I have trouble even thinning the rows in the vegetable garden.  It goes against my nature to pull up a plant that is still alive, even if it does mean better production from the ones you leave, and far more food on my shelves to last the winter.

Sometimes we have to make decisions like that with souls.  Give not that which is holy to the dogs, nor cast your pearls before swine, Matt 7:6.  Who wants to make that judgment call?  And whosover shall not receive you nor hear your words…shake the dust off your feet, 10:14.  It is difficult to give up on someone you have invested a lot of time in, someone you have come to care about.  But sometimes our refusal to do so is costing many more souls out there the chance to hear and accept the word while we waste time on the stubborn and rebellious.

Sometimes that decision must be made among ourselves too.  A little leaven leavens the whole lump, Paul warned about immorality in 1 Cor 5:7, and then used exactly the same warning about false doctrine in Gal 5:9.  If you know anything about cooking, you know that leaven is alive.  It may not be a fungus, but it creeps in exactly the same way and spreads.  No matter how small a chunk of it you use, that dough will suddenly react, and there is no going back when it does.  Speaking of false teachers in 2 Tim 2:17, Paul says, “Their word eats as does a gangrene.”  When gangrene eats away the flesh, it’s gone.

Yes, we have to make these tough decisions, but I have seen some people make it with a little too much zest.  God never enjoyed it.  I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked, He said, Ezek 33:11.  God would have all men to be saved, Paul says, 1 Tim 2:4, and Peter reminds us that God is not willing that any should perish, 2 Pet 3:9.  He waited a long time before He finally punished His people, and even then it was with anguish:  How shall I give you up…how shall I cast you off…my heart recoils within me, my compassion grows warm and tender, Hos 11:8. 

God never meant for this decision to be easy, but sometimes it has to be made.  It isn’t compassion not to make it—it’s cowardice.  My medical book says that fungus spreads worst among very young children and those who are already ill.  We must look underneath those infected branches to see the reason for our decision—to save many more before they too are infected with a fatal disease.  The souls who were sacrificed in the arenas by the Roman persecution are depicted as asking God, How long until you will judge and avenge our blood? Rev 6:10.  Desperate souls may be out there asking us, "How long are you going to waste time on the unwilling, when we want it so badly?”

"Rejoice with him, O heavens; bow down to him, all gods, for he avenges the blood of his children and takes vengeance on his adversaries. He repays those who hate him and cleanses his people's land." Deuteronomy 32:43

Dene Ward