The Second Continental Congress met in May of 1775.  One of the many things that group accomplished was the forerunner of our current postal system.  It seemed obvious to everyone that there needed to be a reliable line of communication between the Congress and the armies.  Thus Benjamin Franklin was named the Postmaster General on July 25, 1775.  Since he was still serving at the Declaration of Independence in July 1776, he is considered the first Postmaster General of the United States of America.  The postal system may have changed some since his day, but we have come to take it for granted as we complain mightily about everything from costs to service.  But that system has meant a lot to me through the years.

           When we first moved over a thousand miles from my hometown, I eagerly awaited the mailman every day.  As the time approached, I learned to listen from any part of the house for that “Ca-chunk” when he lifted the metal lid on the black box hanging by the door and dropped it in.  Oh, what a lovely sound!
 
            My sister often wrote long letters and I returned the favor, letters we added onto for days like a diary before we sent them off.  My parents wrote, Keith’s parents wrote, both my grandmothers wrote, and a couple of friends as well.  It was a rare week I did not receive two or three letters.  This generation with their emails, cell phones, and instant messaging has no idea what they are missing, the joy a simple “clunk” can bring when you hear it.

              I was far from home, in a place so different I couldn’t always find what I needed at the grocery store.  Not only were the brands different—and to a cook from the Deep South, brands are important—but the food itself was odd.  It was forty years ago and the Food Network did not yet exist.  Food was far more regional. 

             The first time I asked for “turnips,” I was shown a bin of purple topped white roots.  In the South, “turnips” were the greens.  I asked for black-eye pea and cantaloupe seeds for my garden, and no one knew what they were.  I asked for summer squash and was handed a zucchini.  When I asked for dried black turtle beans—a staple in Tampa—they looked at me like I was surely making that one up.

             So a letter was special, a taste of home in what was almost “a foreign land,” especially to a young, unsophisticated Southern girl who had never seen snow, didn’t know the difference between a spring coat and a winter coat, and had never stepped out on an icy back step and slid all the way across it, clutching at a bag of garbage like it was a life line and praying the icy patch ended before the edge of the stoop.

            Maybe that’s how the Judahite exiles first felt when they got Jeremiah’s letter, but the feeling did not last.  They did not want to hear his message.  They were sure the tide would turn, that any day now God would rescue Jerusalem and send Nebuchadnezzar packing.  But that’s not what Jeremiah said.

            The letter…said: “Thus says the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel, to all the exiles whom I have sent into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat their produce. Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there, and do not decrease. But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the LORD on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare… For thus says the LORD: When seventy years are completed for Babylon, I will visit you, and I will fulfill to you my promise and bring you back to this place. Jer 29:3-8, 10.

           You are going to be here seventy years, they were told.  Settle down and live your lives.  It took a lot to get these people turned around.  Ezekiel worked at it for years.  They may have been the best of what was left, but they were still unfaithful idolaters who needed to repent in order to become the righteous remnant.

            Which makes it even more remarkable that they had to be told to go about their lives, and especially to “seek the welfare of the city,” the capital of a pagan empire.  To them that was giving up on the city of God, the Promised Land, the house of God, the covenant, and even God Himself.  And it took years for Ezekiel to undo that mindset and make them fit to return in God’s time, not theirs.

           But us?  We have to be reminded that we don’t belong here.  We are exiles in a world of sin.  Yes, you have to live here, Paul says, but don’t live like the world does.  This is not your home.  Peter adds, Beloved, I beseech you as sojourners and pilgrims… 1Pet 2:11.  Too many times we act like this is the place we are headed for instead of merely passing through.

           How many times have I heard Bible classes pat themselves on the back:  “We would never be like those faithless people.”  But occasionally even they outdo us.
 
These all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth. Heb 11:13
 
Dene Ward

Although some might find it difficult to understand because of the past few decades, our country used to be fast friends with France.  After all, they were our allies during the American Revolution.  In 1885, they gave us a special gift, and on June 17 of that year, over 200,000 Americans lined the shore to welcome that gift, the Statue of Liberty, to her new home. 

              She consisted of 350 pieces transported in 214 crates.  When reassembled, she stood 151 feet tall.  Designed by Alexandre-Gustave Eiffel, her copper sheets were sculpted by Frederic-Auguste Bartholdi.  The pedestal on which she stands was built with funds from benefits, charity auctions, and private donations.  In 1924, President Calvin Coolidge declared her a national monument, one that still represents freedom, not only to newly arriving immigrants, but to those of us who have lived here our entire lives.

              Americans cherish their freedom, although we sometimes take it for granted.  We seem to think we are the only ones so blessed.  Yet Christians have always had more freedom than anyone in the world.  Christ has set us free from sin and the power of death.  Too many times we take that freedom for granted as well.  We are too busy making excuses for our failures to appreciate the power he has placed in us to control ourselves and overcome.

              But then, that is a freedom we have too, isn't it?  The freedom to choose not to take advantage of his help and his promises.   How many of us look at the choices set before us and stubbornly make the wrong ones?  God tells us how dangerous the world is.  He warns against deception and trickery.  He tells us our salvation is our own responsibility so be careful who you follow.  Yet even when we look at the choices side by side, we seem so drawn to the wrong ones.  They are immediate.  They are tangible.  They are pleasant.  The idea of something far superior in the future seems to be pie in the sky.  “A bird in the hand…” the old saying goes, and we fall for it nearly every time.

              It would be so much easier if God made the choice for us, but where is the glory in a creature who cannot choose? 
 
              The idea that God did not give us a choice, that He makes the choice of who will be saved from the moment of their birth is, of course, a fairly common theological doctrine.  Yet it limits God in ability and creativity.  It makes Him a respecter of persons.  It makes Him unsympathetic and unapproachable, a tyrant who makes decisions seemingly at random, playing with the eternal souls of people as if they were plastic action figures.  That is not the God of the Bible.  There are too many heart-rending pleas for us to return.  There are too many passages giving options to people in all sorts of situations, including whether or not they will serve Him for that to be true.
 
              He gave me a choice; he gave you a choice.  Make the right one.
 
I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day, that I have set before you life and death, the blessing and the curse: therefore choose life, that you may live, you and your seed, Deut 30:19.
 
Dene Ward

On the date above, the Associated Press ran a story about "half-naked natators" on the municipal beaches of New York City who were being fined ($1.00) for showing up topless.  "The city fathers insist on complete bathing suits—tops and trunks, or one-piece suits combining both."
              Yes, we are talking about men here.  Before then, public morals insisted that men not go shirtless. "Are you kidding?" some of you are probably thinking, but, as a preacher friend likes to say, "Here's the deal."  Just because society's sense of modesty has changed does not mean God's has.  We point to articles like this and use them to justify some of the most immodest clothing ever worn in any society through the ages.  And why?  Because we do not want to be different, that's why.  Folks, being different is what being a Christian is all about.  It is all over the pages of the New Testament.  If you can't stand to be pointed at and derided because you refuse to act like the rest of the world, then you are not up to the task of being a Christian.
              Granted, some of us have been raised to see certain things as "normal."  Do you realize how many things a missionary has to "unteach" in a pagan society where they are accepted as "normal?"  We are just acting like pagans when we allow our society to define our morality.  It is high time we re-examined our behavior, and in this morning's post, our clothing. 
              Do you realize that European women (I read in a newspaper article) view American women as "dressed like prostitutes?"  I wish I still had that article so you would know I am not making this up.  What we like to call "immodesty" is probably better defined as lasciviousness—that which arouses lust.  Here is where fathers fail to teach and mothers fail to accept their views.  Men know exactly what other men are thinking—especially men who are not even trying to be godly.  And what do men like to look at?
              Cleavage, short shorts, any kind of swimsuit (or anything that shows an entire length of leg or even just most of one), spaghetti straps, work-out clothes, tight jeans and skirts, strapless and backless clothes, bare midriffs (and a belly chain is a special turn-on), and any item that blatantly draws attention to certain parts of the body.  Yes, immodesty is often a heart issue.  A woman who dresses with "the imperishable beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit" (1 Pet 3:4) will seldom dress immodestly.  However, immodesty can also be a matter of ignorance.  Just as those pagans who thought polygamy was "normal" needed to be shown otherwise, some women think certain types of dress are normal because that is what everyone else wears.  Sometimes practicality simply demands some sort of list!
              That list above can be found in any article or book on the subject, even ones not written by Christians.  Ungodly people know what is and is not immodest.  For some reason, the list doesn't change no matter what the date of copyright.  In fact, it is the same list I saw as a teenager, oh, so many, many years ago.  So what was that about "things have changed?"  What incites lust does not change.
              "So what can I wear?" you ask pitifully.  A lot.  I haven't had a bit of trouble finding things to wear.  Neither has my daughter-in-law or my seven nieces.  There are even companies that make "modest swimwear."  Enough Christians of one stripe or another have asked for it and it is now available, if you will bother to look it up.  I did not have such a luxury and I truly looked weird in my swimming get-up, which was made up of various items of regular, modest clothing that covered me from neck to knee and was not transparent, even when it got wet.
              Another problem:  parents, please think about the extracurricular activities you involve your children in, both boys and girls, and the kind of clothing that activity usually demands.  Why would you allow your child to come to love, and even build his or her identity in something that sooner or later you will have to forbid?  Could you be any crueler?  I have reached the point that, though I enjoy gymnastics, I will no longer watch it now that half of every young female gymnast's behind is on display.  I probably should have turned it off sooner. 
              Every year that passes I see us accepting things that we should not, things we should avoid and teach our children to avoid, not excuse as "normal because everyone does it."  I remember conversations with my mother about that very thing.  "What everyone does is probably the best reason for you not to do it," she said, and she was absolutely right.
              Go look in your closets, sisters.  Look in your daughter's closet.  She will not understand when you suddenly forbid her to wear some things.  You will never be able to make her understand, probably, until she marries, and even then some women refuse to get it.  Why, their good man could not possibly have a problem with these things.  Yes, he can, and you are making it harder on him when you won't accept the facts of biology.
              We all have a responsibility to the people around us.  If we cause lust, we are "causing our brother to stumble (SIN)," and yes, it is too, our problem, not just his, because God will hold us accountable.
 
Do not let your adorning be external—the braiding of hair and the putting on of gold jewelry, or the clothing you wear—but let your adorning be the hidden person of the heart with the imperishable beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which in God's sight is very precious.  For this is how the holy women who hoped in God used to adorn themselves… (1Pet 3:3-5)
 
Dene Ward

"Resolved, That the flag of the United States be made of thirteen stripes, alternate red and white; that the union be thirteen stars, white in a blue field, representing a new Constellation."  It has changed now and again from that day over two centuries ago, but the American flag still means to us what it did then—a symbol of a new nation, no longer a colony belonging to a mad king.
              The thirteen red and white stripes represent the original thirteen colonies.  The fifty stars represent the fifty states in the union.  Even the colors are symbolic.  Red symbolizes hardiness and valor.  White symbolizes purity and innocence.  Blue symbolizes vigilance, perseverance, and justice.
              The symbolism of flags and banners is nearly as old as man himself.  In Num 2:2 we see that every tribe of Israel had a banner, a flag, which flew over their encampment.  Like the American flag, the images on the flags were symbolic.  Unfortunately we do not have a Biblical record of those symbols.  The best we can do are various rabbinic lists, and some of them do make sense.  The image on Judah’s banner, for instance, was supposedly a lion, taken from Jacob’s description of Judah in Gen 49:9 as a “lion’s whelp.”  Benjamin’s flag pictured a wolf, we are told, based on his description as a “scavenging wolf” in 49:27.  The odd thing to me is that some of these symbols are anything but complimentary.  Dan’s symbol, for example, is a snake:  Dan shall be a serpent in the way, An adder in the path, That bites the horse's heels, So that his rider falls backward.  49:17.
              And so I found myself wondering what if God ordered a flag act, requiring us to fly a banner outside every meetinghouse?  What would be on them?  What would represent our “tribe” of God’s people?
              I wonder if we could somehow depict the city of Gibeah (Judg 19) on every flag outside an unwelcoming group of brethren, people who ignored the ones who weren’t dressed well or who showed up in leather and covered in tattoos?  Maybe we could put a whitewashed sepulcher on the flags of those who sit in the pews on Sunday but live like the Devil the rest of the week.  Perhaps phylacteries would be the picture on the flag of those congregations who could quote verse after verse, but who never served their neighbors or each other.  Maybe we could put a big puff adder on the flag of those who were “conceited and puffed up” with “an unhealthy craving for controversy,” 1 Tim 6:4.  And don’t forget one with a rendition of Judas kissing Jesus for those congregations who betray God by ignoring His authority in all they do.
              It would certainly be handy wouldn’t it, far better than those “directories.”   Then we could look for flags showing foot washing—truly a church of servants.  We could look for flags depicting an open Bible for those known for their love of the Truth and spreading it.  We could even look for embroidered hearts denoting love and sincerity. 
              I am sure you are sitting there right now trying to decide what should be on your congregation’s flag.  Here is something even more important for you to consider for the rest of the day:  what would God put on your own personal flag, the one flying right outside your home?
 
You have given a banner to them that fear you, That it may be displayed because of the truth. Psalms 60:4.
 
Dene Ward

I was scanning a baseball trivia article called “The Odd Side of Baseball” by Gene Elston, and came across this story.  On May 23, 1895, the Louisville Cardinals forfeited a game to Brooklyn because they didn’t supply enough baseballs for the game.  They didn’t have enough baseballs for the game?  What kind of game did they think it was, tag?

            They began the game with three balls, two of which were used practice balls borrowed from the Brooklyn Bridegrooms, so by the third inning the balls were all too worn out to use.  Since the home team was obligated to provide them, that was that.  Brooklyn got an easy win.

            I have watched baseball for a few years now.  Even a late bloomer like me knows that those umpires toss out balls with the least little scuff mark on them, not counting the home runs and ground rule doubles that you lose into the stands, not to mention the free souvenirs tossed by generous outfielders several times an inning.  Even I know you need more than three balls to play a full nine inning game.

            All of which got me to wondering what we fail to supply while claiming to be Christians.  The obvious one is showing up for class or a sermon without a Bible, but how many of us also try to get through life without opening one?  How many of us try to fulfill our obligation to know the Word with a scanty chapter a day?  How many of us think we can keep a viable relationship with our Creator on three one minute graces a day before meals?  Sounds like starting a baseball game with three balls, two of which are in poor condition to begin with.

            But let’s think for a minute about the supplies God furnishes and see if that doesn’t give us a few more clues.  We are supposed to emulate our Father, after all.

            A little searching turned up eight passages describing God as “abundant in lovingkindness.”  Seven of those include the phrase, “slow to anger.”  How many of us are more prone to bring just three balls of patience and forbearance to others, instead of an abundant enough supply to play through the whole game—and actually have leftovers?  Are we afraid some of that patience may go to waste or just too chintzy to share? 

            Psalm 132:15 tells us that God will “abundantly bless” his people.  Other passages talk about the abundance of rain and crops.  They speak of God’s people being satisfied, not with scanty amounts, but “with fatness.”  How would people describe what we give back to God, not just in the collection plate, but in our time, in our effort, in our generosity to others, and in the way we make decisions every day?  Is God always on our minds, or simply when the cultural norms of the day dictate?  Does our service to God always come first in any decision we make, even where we live, whom we marry, and where we spend our spare time?  Or are we stingy with that too?

            Isa 55:7 tells us God will “abundantly pardon.”  Not just enough so we can squeak by, but enough that we can live without fear of judgment, 1 John 4:17,18.  How do we pardon those who have wronged us?  How can we even speak in the same terms when the things we become so upset about are usually petty annoyances, nothing even close to the despicable deeds we have done to this merciful God, who continually supplies the balls, who never runs out no matter how many we scuff up, or hit over the wall, or toss out to a bystander as if it were nothing?

            What are you bringing to the ball game?  We can never supply our own pardon, but we can sacrifice anything and everything as often as necessary and stand ready to give up even more to a Savior who came “that we may have life, and have it abundantly,” John 10:10.
 
Now unto him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us, unto him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus unto all generations for ever and ever. Amen. Ephesians 3:20-21
 
Dene Ward

On May 21, 1901, Connecticut became the first state to pass a law restricting the speed of vehicles—12 mph in town, and 15 out of town.  There had been speed limits as early as 1652, but those were for non-motorized vehicles.  Wagons, carts, and sleighs were not permitted to travel "at a gallop" in New Amsterdam (New York City).  The first paper speeding ticket seems to have been issued in 1904, to Harry Myers in Dayton, Ohio.  So it took about three years for someone to get caught breaking the traffic laws.  My, how times have changed.

               Americans in general have a problem with authority.  We are quick to ask, “Who says?” and just as quick to ignore the answer.  That is why you see all those brake lights on the road in front of you when the wolf pack of cars passes a trooper on the side of the road.  If we all recognized the authority of the government, we would not be breaking laws when we thought no one was watching. 

              People today are always talking about making Jesus “Lord” in their lives.  If our culture gets in the way in any area, it is this one.  We have no idea what living under a “lord” is like.  We vote our lawmakers in if we like them and out if we don’t.  We hold sit-ins, walk picket lines, and strike.  Actually having someone else tell us how to handle every area of our lives is not only something we have never experienced, it is something that would rankle and cause rebellion immediately, simply for the fact of it. 

              Jesus can be Lord in my life as long He will take me as I am, as long as He will be the kind, accepting, loving Lord who never expects any sacrifice on my part.  He can be my Lord as long as he helps me when I want him and how I want him, and leaves me alone otherwise.  He can be my Lord as long as I get to choose how I serve Him.  Our culture is getting in the way.  This is one thing those first century Christians could handle better than we can—they lived under an irrational tyrant.  Yet when Peter and Paul told them to obey the government they did, even when that government tortured and killed them.

              We show a complete lack of respect for authority when we disrespect God’s law.  I keep hearing, “This is how I want to do it, and God knows my heart so He will accept it.”  This comes from women who get mad at husbands whose gifts are “not romantic.”  “He should know what I want and want to please me,” even though they never spell it out in so many words.  God does spell it out but if it’s not what we want to give him, we ignore his desires. 

              It comes from men who make fun of the ties and after shave they get on Father’s Day.  They want season tickets to their favorite team’s game or some other “manly” gift or toy, but their wives “just don’t get it.”  I suppose God should accept those token gifts if we give them with all our hearts?  We regularly give God what we would never accept gracefully ourselves, what we would in fact, ridicule to our friends.

              Jesus said authority is important.  He said there are only two places to get it: “from Heaven or from men,” Matt 21:25, the point being that authority from God is all that matters.  In turn, God gives governments authority (Rom 13:1), husbands authority (Eph 5:23), parents authority (Eph 6:1), and elders authority (Heb 13:17).  Therefore whoever resists the authorities resists what God has appointed, and those who resist will incur judgment, Rom 13:2.  When the Israelites rejected God’s choice of judge as their ruler and demanded a king instead, God told Samuel, they have not rejected you, they have rejected me from being king over them, 1 Sam 8:7.

              Rebellion seems to be second nature to Americans.  But rebellion against God’s authority, or any God-ordained authority, is rebellion against God.
 
And seated [Christ] at his right hand in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and above every name that is named, not only in this age, but in the one that is to come.  And he put all things under his feet, and gave him as head over all things to the church, which is his body, the fullness of him who fills all in all, Eph 1:20-23
             
Dene Ward
 

On April 30, 1803, America signed a treaty with France giving her possession of the Louisiana territory for $11,250,000 plus assuming claims of American citizens against France totaling $3,750,000.  For a grand total of $15 million we gained 828,000 square miles of land.  We received a territory that eventually became 13 states for 3 cents an acre.  Let's just say, France was having troubles.  They needed some quick cash.  And the United States was expanding quickly.  "Manifest Destiny" was not yet a policy, but a lot of people had the bug already.

               Owning a piece of land was our goal, too, when we moved to this part of the state.  I remember when we finally signed the papers and came out to make plans for our new home site.  Walking on this ground was suddenly different.  Every place we put our feet was ours, or was it? 

              We have done our best to be good stewards of this land, this loan from God.  Stewardship is what being green is all about.  We used this ground for our family’s sustenance.  We raised pigs for their meat and chickens for their eggs.  We grew a large vegetable garden, and a little herb garden closer to the kitchen.  We planted grapevines and blueberry bushes and several kinds of fruit trees. 

              We also tried to make the world a more beautiful place.  We transplanted azaleas, jasmine, roses, and lilies, and have added an amaryllis bed, a trellis of six different flowering vines, wildflowers in the field, and annuals here and there.

              We have used it to create a loving home for our children.  Keith and the boys built a doghouse for all the various family pets.  In the early days they put up a swing set.  Later they set a basketball goal in the field.  They put together a backboard to act as catcher in their three-man baseball game (pitcher-batter-fielder), and hauled in dirt from the back corner of the property to make a pitcher’s mound.  We tried to make this possession of ours a good place, a useful place.  We tried to make it more than just a has-been watermelon field.

              You are God’s possession.  He told his people at least twice in Deuteronomy, “You are my treasured possession.”  We have this tendency to say, “It’s my life; I can do as I please.”  No it isn’t, and no you can’t.  You belong to God.

              Maybe it is more difficult for us in our culture.  We do not understand belonging to a person.  That is slavery, something this country paid a huge price to rid itself of.  But those ancient people did understand.  I found two places in the Old Testament where men told other men, “We are yours.”  (2 Kings 10:5; 1 Chron 12:18)  They added comments like, “We are on your side,” and “We will do all you say to do.”  Do you think God asks any less of us?

              Even when we understand that, we limit it, and try to make it sound better for being so:  as long as my heart is for God, nothing else matters.  You cannot compartmentalize your devotion to God.  YOU belong to God, not just your heart, not just your actions, not just your words or your time or your money—all of you, even your physical body.  “It is He who has made us and not we ourselves” Psalm 100:3.  Of course we are his possession.

              Paul reminds us of the same thing in his argument against one particular sin.   Now the body is not for fornication, but for the Lord; and the Lord for the body. Know ye not that your bodies are the members of Christ? Shall I then take the members of Christ, and make them the members of a harlot? God forbid, 1 Cor 6:13,15. 

              What we do with our bodies does matter.  Just as the two of us would be angry for anyone to use our piece of land for something sinful, God is angry when we use his possession for sins of the flesh.  Just as we want to make the best use of this land for as long as possible, God expects us to care for his possession so that it will be useful to him for as long as possible.

              Taking care of God’s possession, our bodies, involves far more than the usual abstinence from smoking, drugs, and liquor we usually associate with this concept.  Especially as we grow older, ailments happen.  Sometimes its genetics, but sometimes it’s because we didn’t take care of ourselves the years before.  Staying healthy for as long as possible is the least we owe God, but usually the last thing we think about. 

              And after illnesses come about, do you follow your doctor’s instructions?  I am simply amazed when my doctors ask me if I take my medicine regularly, and if I can handle the discomfort they cause.  Evidently some people can’t—or won’t.  The medicine tastes bad, or the eye drops burn, or it’s too much trouble to remember.  We have turned into a nation of whiners.

              We aren’t put here to play.  We are put here for our master’s use.  “We were bought with a price,” Paul says.  Is the Lord getting his money’s worth out of you?
 
Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body. 1Cor 6:19-20
 
Dene Ward

The 1930s were famous for more than one disaster.  Besides the Great Depression they were also known as the Dirty Thirties.  Drought, over-farming, and over-grazing turned the once fertile land of the Great Plains into the Dust Bowl.  100 million acres of farmland were affected.  Dozens of massive dust storms blew through every year of that decade.  The worst day by far was April 14, 1935 when 20 storms blew through in one day, turning the skies black and leading to the name "Black Sunday." 

              Those storms were far more dangerous than we realize.  All during that decade, schools were often closed to prevent "dust pneumonia" in those traveling back and forth.  If the children were already at school when a storm began, they were often kept overnight to keep them out of the filthy air. Cars drug chains behind them to ground them due to the high voltage static electricity that the dust caused and which led to several electrocutions.  People knew to sweep the dust off their roofs, but they forgot that dust seeps into cracks and many attics collapsed on the families beneath.

               After reading all that I knew that my incredibly dust-producing house was not as bad as I always thought.  Still, though, it is the dustiest place we have ever lived. A few weeks ago I got out the dust rags and the polish and went to work.  It had been over two months since I had dusted anything at all and it was showing, not just on the furniture, but in my nose and lungs—I have a dust mite allergy. 
 
             I knew it would take awhile and it did, dusting every flat surface and every item on them, including a large dinner bell collection, vases from Bethlehem and Nicaragua, and those porcelain bootee-shaped vases that flowers had come in when the boys were born, figurines inherited from grandmothers and great-aunts, a wooden airplane Keith’s grandfather whittled inside an empty whiskey bottle, candles, telephones, a small piano collection, a metronome, fan blades, jewelry boxes, and beaucoup picture frames.  I dirtied up four rags in an hour and a half, sneezed a couple dozen times, and required a decongestant in order to breathe the rest of the day.

              When I finished I looked around.  The pictures all reflected brightly in the wood they sat on, the porcelain shone, the candles looked a shade brighter, and the brass gleamed.  What a difference it made to dust things off.

              So what do you need to dust off in your life?   Sometimes we become satisfied with our place in the kingdom, happy with where we are in our spiritual growth, comfortable in our relationships with others and our ability to overcome.  Sometimes we sit so long in our comfortable spot, be it a literal pew or a figurative one, that we soon sport our own layer of dust.  Maybe we aren’t doing anything wrong exactly, we have just stopped stretching ourselves to be better and do more. 

              “Dusting off” seems a good metaphor for “renewal.”  Paul tells the Colossians we have “put off our old selves” (past tense) but that the new self is “being renewed” (present tense), Col 3:9,10.  Being renewed has not stopped and never should.  Every day is a new beginning for the child of God.  When we forget that, the dust starts to settle, and our light is dimmed with a layer of uselessness that builds every minute.  Soon, as the light weakens, no one will notice us, or is that the point?

              When did you last dust yourself off and get to work, “transforming yourself by the renewing of your mind?” Rom 12:2.  That layer of dust will build and build until it collapses on your unsuspecting spirit, giving you a case of dust pneumonia from which you may never recover.
 
Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me, Psalms 51:10.
 
Dene Ward

Charles Richard Drew was a renowned surgeon who developed a method for storing blood plasma and transporting that blood to the people who needed it.  He was also the father of America's first large scale blood bank.
 
             A native of Washington, he was a gifted athlete who was recruited to Amherst College, one of only 13 African-Americans in a student body of 600.  He earned his medical degree in 1933 at McGill University, one of few schools open to black students, winning several prizes along the way and graduating second in his class.

              Despite constant roadblocks because of race, Drew did his internship and residency at Montreal Hospital, and joined the faculty at Howard University School of Medicine, teaching pathology and surgery and eventually becoming chief surgical resident at Freedmen's Hospital.  While working on a doctorate at Columbia, he won a fellowship to train at Presbyterian Hospital with John Scudder, who called him, "naturally great," and, "a brilliant pupil."  While working with Scudder his interest in transfusions and blood typing grew.  His dissertation was called a "masterpiece" and "one of the most distinguished essays ever written."  Eventually his procedures and standards for collecting and storing blood led to the Blood for Britain Project, which saved thousands of lives in World War II.                

              Drew went on to a brilliant, but short, career.  On March 31, 1950, he drove to a conference in North Carolina.  It was late and he was tired.  He fell asleep at the wheel and the automobile crashed.  Drew was rushed to an all-white hospital.  He needed a transfusion.  Because it makes for a much more titillating story, word went around that he was refused the transfusion because he was black.  I found that in several places, including a printed book.  But later, the correct story finally made the light of day.  He did receive the transfusion he needed just like any other patient, but it was not enough to save him.  He died on April 1, 1950.

              I suppose the comparison here is obvious.  Blood will save lives.  My own mother had to have 2 pints of it once because one of those many numbers they count had gone from a normal 13 to 5.  But even that will not save everyone, and it will not save forever.  Only one blood will do that—the blood of the sinless Savior.  No matter your race, no matter your sin, it can save you.  It does not need special processing or equipment to store it.  It is right there, always available.  Paul even tells us the proper procedure:

               Or are you ignorant that all we who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?  We were buried therefore with him through baptism into death: that like as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, so we also might walk in newness of life.  For if we have become united with him in the likeness of his death, we shall be also in the likeness of his resurrection; knowing this, that our old man was crucified with him, that the body of sin might be done away, that so we should no longer be in bondage to sin; for he who has died is justified from sin. (Rom 6:3-7)

              Do you need a transfusion?
 
Dene Ward

I learned as a child in the Florida school system that Juan Ponce de Leon was the first Spanish explorer to land here.  No records are available but he was believed to have been born in July, 1474, and traveled with Columbus as a very young man before ultimately setting off on his own.

              He had heard stories about a magical spring that could cure diseases and make you young again, so he began the search, finally sighting land on March 27, 1513.  A few days later he landed; no one is sure the exact date except that it was “late March,” and obviously after the 27th.  The land he set foot on somewhere near St. Augustine was so beautiful he called it Florida.  Spring in Florida is beautiful.  I understand why he was impressed.  If he had landed in July, we would have had a much different name.  (What’s the Spanish word for “sauna?”)

              We do have a lot of natural springs in Florida—probably half a dozen within 30 miles of where I sit—but none with the magical powers he looked for.  I can find a Fountain of Youth quite easily, though.  I have it laid out right next to me as I type.  The eternal life promised to the faithful may be the most obvious application of that concept, but I can think of yet another.

              As I watch my grandsons play I find myself remembering my own childhood, realizing as an adult how unfettered it was by worry, pain, and sorrow.  I never for a moment wondered where my next meal was coming from.  I never worried about storms, not even hurricanes.  I never worried about bad people doing bad things to me.  I had a Daddy I trusted implicitly.  He would take care of me.  That’s what Daddies do.

              Once when I was still in early grade school, I had a bad dream.  My Daddy came in and sat on the bed next to me, asking me about the dream and then carefully undoing every worry it had evoked in me.  When he finished I could go back to sleep because of his reassurances.  That’s what Daddies do.

              One morning in first grade I was upset about something—I don’t even remember what now.  But my Daddy noticed that I had tears in my eyes when I got out of the car at school.  As I stood in front of my classroom, waiting for the bell to ring, I looked up and there he was, striding down the sidewalk.  He had parked the car and come looking for me to make sure I was all right.  That’s what Daddies do.

              Daddies provide.  They protect.  They comfort.  Do you want a Fountain of Youth?  Stop worrying about things you cannot fix.  Stop being afraid of things you cannot handle alone.  Stop wondering how you will manage.  Cast your cares on a Father who loves you.  Once again become a little child who has a Daddy who will always be there, always watching out for your needs and taking care of your problems.  If you don’t have that, it’s only because you insist on ignoring His outstretched hand.  You insist on trying to control everything yourself—as if you were the Daddy. 

              Do you begin your prayers, “Father in Heaven?”  Then act like He is your Father.  Trust Him.  Begin this day with a new exuberance, one born because you have surrendered your cares to Him and finally found the Fountain of Youth.
 
For all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God. For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, "Abba! Father!" The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, Romans 8:14-16.
 
Dene Ward