Most people love them, and they have now become a health food, rich in antioxidants.  But if it weren't for Elizabeth Coleman White, you might never see them in your supermarket produce section, and only in a few roadside stands.  Blueberries are a native American crop, one you could only get wild.  Ms. White changed that.
            She was the eldest of four daughters, born on October 5, 1871, to Quaker parents who were cranberry farmers.  Elizabeth regularly left the house with her father and went to the bogs, learning how to grow cranberries, his only crop.  By age 22 she was an employee of her father's company, in charge of packing and shipping, and occasionally delving into agricultural research, working on eliminating the cranberry katydid among other things.
          But Elizabeth began wondering about growing blueberries.  Since cranberries were a fall crop and blueberries a summer crop, they would enlarge the growing season and the profits for the family business.  Commercial cultivation of blueberries had never been done successfully before.  Then she read an article called, "Experiments in Blueberries" written by a USDA botanist named Frederick Coville.  Her interest was piqued and, with her father's permission, she invited him to come to her farm and continue the experimenting with her. 
            She put out a call to all in her area to find whatever blueberry plants they could find in the wild.  Each one was named, usually after the man who found it.  Elizabeth and her crew chose the plants they thought could survive a transplant and produce.  In 1912, despite all the naysayers, White and Coville were successful, and in 1916, the team produced the first commercial crop of blueberries.
            Elizabeth eventually became known as "The Blueberry Queen" and in 1932, the state of New Jersey gave her an award for her "outstanding contribution to agriculture."  By the 1990s, blueberry production had reached 100,000,000 pounds a year (all information from New Jersey Monthly) and because of her work, we ourselves had twelve blueberry plants that served us well for three or four decades.
           All of which leads me to picking blueberries.  Every second morning in June I would step outside into the morning steam of dew rising off the grass—much different than Ms. White's New England climate--head and eyes shielded from the bright sunshine, carrying a five quart plastic bucket to our small stand of blueberry bushes.  It always amazes me how the morning temperature can be twenty degrees cooler than the afternoon’s, yet within minutes the perspiration is rolling from hairline to chin.  Even the dogs refused to accompany me, though a shade tree stands within mere feet of the blueberries.  They sat on the carport, their bellies flat against the still cool cement and watched, probably commenting to one another about how silly humans can be, especially Floridians.
            It was so uncomfortable one morning, and the blueberries so plenteous, their weight bending the boughs in deep arcs, that after the first half hour I became a little less careful in my picking.  Often as I reached deep into the interior of a bush where I had seen several plump, ripe, dusky blueberries hanging, I simply wrapped my hand around the clump and gently nudged each one with my thumb.  Berries that are ready to be picked will fall off the stem easily, and usually I pulled out a fistful of perfectly ripe ones.  Once in awhile though, a red one appeared in my palm, and even a white or green one.  Oh well, it certainly speeded up the process to pick that way, then toss out the bad ones, and it’s not like we had a measly crop.
            I wonder sometimes if we aren’t too careful in our attempts to reach the lost.  We have a bad habit of deciding who will listen before we ever start talking and our judgments are so different that the ones the Lord made.  He cast his nets into a polluted river, hoping to save as many dying fish as possible; we cast ours into the country club swimming pool, but that is another metaphor for another time.
            Sometimes we come across a blueberry bush with most of the berries still red, not quite ripe for the picking so we pass it by and leave a couple of big ripe ones, just begging to be put into the pie.  It is too much trouble to go after them one at a time.
            Other times we see a bush with quite a few plump ripe berries and instead of just reaching out and grabbing all we can, because there are a few not quite ready, we move to another branch.  No need picking a handful when we might need to throw out half of them.  And so we only reach for the easy ones, the ones that appeal to us because they look like the pictures in the cookbook and are easy to get to.  Those showing a hint of red at the stem end might take a little more effort, a little more sugar in the pie filling.  And because of that we miss some that would give our pie more flavor.
            In another figure Jesus told us to sow the seed wherever we could, not take the time to map it into suitable planting zones.  He said the world is ripe for picking.  “Don’t cast your pearls before swine,” is about people who have had their chance and rejected it, not about us judging another’s suitability to be our brethren.  Where would we have wound up if people had treated us that way?
            Go pick some blueberries.  Grab all you can and let the Lord decide which ones will make the best pie.
 
But when he saw the multitudes he was moved with compassion for them because they were distressed and scattered, as sheep not having a shepherd.  Then he said to his disciples, the harvest indeed is plenteous, but the laborers are few.  Pray therefore the Lord of the harvest that he send forth laborers into his harvest, Matt 9:36-38
 
Dene Ward

When I was a child, we lived under the threat of Communism and the Cold War.  There was not one German nation, there were two—East and West Germany, as well as East and West Berlin, a city within East Germany.  The Eastern halves of both were Communist.  It had been like that since before I was born, since 1949, in fact.
            Then Communism fell apart, one nation at a time, and that collapse hit East Germany in 1989.  Reunification suddenly became the topic of the day.  Some nations were against it.  After all, a unified Germany had killed an estimated six million Jews, "and might do it again."  They were also primed to become the dominant power in Europe with a robust economy.  In short, some did not trust them and probably never would.
            But on October 3, 1990, East and West Germany signed the necessary papers to make them once again one nation.  The legal matters are too complicated to discuss here, but it happened and it has remained so since then.  There is now one Germany called the Federal Republic of Germany.
            God believes that unity is a good thing.  He expects it of his people, and when something happens to ruin the unity, he expects us to do everything short of sin to repair it.  For example…
              I entreat Euodia and I entreat Syntyche to agree in the Lord. Yes, I ask you also, true companion, help these women, who have labored side by side with me in the gospel together with Clement and the rest of my fellow workers, whose names are in the book of life.  (Phil 4:2-3).
            One of the saddest things about having been part of many different congregations in my lifetime is seeing people just like those two famous women above.  These were good women who had worked hard for the Lord, but for some reason they just could not get along.  We have seen it in every church and it is never takes long to figure out who the two parties are.  Once we were only at a place for a week-long gospel meeting and we still knew who they were well before the week was up.  That time it was two men, by the way.
            A lot of people may say that it doesn't really matter as long as they don't gather up parties on either side or cause a ruckus because, after all, the Bible doesn't say we have to like each other.  Yet the older I get and the more I study, the more I believe it does matter for one very simple reason.  Let me show you quickly this morning.
            Grab your Bible and look up Ephesians 2:11-22.  Christ came here with a mission.  The first one was making peace between God and man (Rom 5:1-3).  But he also came to make peace among men.  Look at verse 12 in this passage.  What was happening before Christ?  As Gentiles we were separate from Christ, alienated from the Jews, strangers from the covenant of promise, had no hope, and were without God.  Do you see all those words of separation and disunity?
            But now that we are in Christ we have been brought near, are one new man, are in one body of the reconciled, have access to the father, have become one nation and one family, and are built into one spiritual Temple (vv13-21).  Notice the difference in the words—nearness, access, oneness.  And why did that have to happen?  Because (v 22) God, who is a God of peace (Phil 4:9) cannot dwell in a Temple where there is no peace.
            When we think we can hang on to our little peeves and animosities and have it not affect the church, we are sadly mistaken.  It isn't just the Jew/Gentile or black/white problem, though they are bad enough.  It took Christ coming and dying to fix that and make us one nation.  But we can still ruin the whole thing if an outsider can come in and see the disunity after just a few days, when one family fights another, when two men behave like children who want their way "or else," when two women avoid one another like the plague. 
When you just can't get along, and don't really even seem to care, you may as well hang a sign on the door that says, "God not wanted here."
 
I do not ask for these only, but also for those who will believe in me through their word, ​that they may all be one, just as you, Father, are in me, and I in you, that they also may be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me.  (John 17:20-21).
 
Dene Ward
 

Charles Edward Coughlin was one of the first to broadcast religious programming over the radio, beginning in 1925.  He eventually had up to thirty million listeners in the 1930s.  He was a Roman Catholic priest, but his programs were more about politics than religion.  He began with a series of attacks on socialism and Soviet communism and moved on to American capitalism.  He even helped found a political party—the Union Party.  Finally, due to some not-so-latent anti-Semitism, he was forced off the air, announcing it in his final program on September 23, 1939.
            Others have stuck with religion and fared much better, Vernon McGee, Oral Roberts, and Billy Graham among them.  Many went on to television, but for a couple of generations, a lot of folks got their weekly dose of religion from the hump-backed radio they carefully tuned in amid high-pitched whistles and static.
         When I was young, radio evangelists were fond of ending their broadcasts with the directive to “put your hand on the radio and just believe.”  That was supposed to instantly transform the person who did nothing but sit in his recliner with a cup of coffee (or a can of beer?) into a Christian, a true believer, a person of “faith.” 
            Most mainstream denominational theologians believe in this doctrine of “mental assent.”  Faith is nothing more than believing, no action required.  Surely that must be one of those things spawned by the itching ears of listeners who wanted nothing required of them.  Just look at a few scriptures with me.
            For in Christ Jesus neither circumcision nor uncircumcision counts for anything, but only faith working through love. Galatians 5:6.  What was that?  “Faith working…?”  Faith isn’t supposed to “work,” or so everyone says.  Did you know that Greek word is energeo?  Can you see it?  That’s the word we get “energy” and “energetic” from.  I don’t remember seeing too many energetic people sitting in their recliners.
            Only let your manner of life be worthy of the gospel of Christ, so that whether I come and see you or am absent, I may hear of you that you are standing firm in one spirit, with one mind striving side by side for the faith of the gospel, Philippians 1:27.  Striving for the faith?  Even in English “striving” implies effort.  In fact, the Greek word is sunathleo.  Ask any “athlete” if mental assent will help him win a gold medal or a Super Bowl ring and you’ll hear him laughing a mile away.
            Even if I am to be poured out as a drink offering upon the sacrificial offering of your faith, I am glad and rejoice with you all, Philippians 2:17, ESV.  Now that can’t be right.  Everyone knows faith has nothing to do with outward observances of the law like sacrifices.  Well, how about this translation?  The ASV says “service of faith.”  Anyway you look at it, whether sacrifice or service, it requires some sort of action on our parts.
            Fight the good fight of faith. Take hold of the eternal life to which you were called and about which you made the good confession in the presence of many witnesses,1 Timothy 6:12.  Faith is a “fight.”  That Greek word is agon from which we get our word “agony.”  If you are a crossword puzzler, you know that an agon was a public fight in the Roman arena.  Anyone who did nothing but sit there, with or without a recliner, didn’t last long.
            To this end we always pray for you, that our God may make you worthy of his calling and may fulfill every resolve for good and every work of faith by his power, so that the name of our Lord Jesus may be glorified in you, and you in him, according to the grace of our God and the Lord Jesus Christ. 2 Thessalonians 1:11-12.  And there you have it in black and white:  “work of faith.” 
            Nope, some say, the trouble is you keep quoting these men.  Jesus never said any such thing.  Jesus answered them, This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he has sent, John 6:29.  If faith itself is a work, how can we divorce the works it does from it? 
            We do have examples of mental assent in the scriptures, three that I could find easily. 
            You believe that God is one; you do well: the demons also believe, and shudder. James 2:19
            But certain also of the strolling Jews, exorcists, took upon them to name over them that had the evil spirits the name of the Lord Jesus, saying, I adjure you by Jesus whom Paul preaches. And there were seven sons of one Sceva, a Jew, a chief priest, who did this. And the evil spirit answered and said unto them, Jesus I know, and Paul I know, but who are you? Acts 19:13-15
            Those first two examples are powerful.  The devil and his minions believe in the existence of God and the deity of Jesus.  In fact, they know those things for a fact.  They even, please notice, recognize Paul as one of the Lord’s ministers.  So much for not paying attention to his or any other apostle’s writings.  Then there is this one:
            Nevertheless, many even of the authorities believed in him, but for fear of the Pharisees they did not confess it, so that they would not be put out of the synagogue; John 12:42.  Those men believed too.  They would have been thrilled to know they could put their hands on something in the privacy of their homes and “just believe.”  They could have had their cake and eaten it too—become followers without actually following.
            And therein lies the crux of the matter.  It’s easy to sit in your recliner and listen.  It’s too hard to work, to strive, to sacrifice and serve, and way too hard to fight until you experience the agony of rejection, tribulation, and persecution.
            Guess what?  Some of us believe this too.  We just substitute the pew for the recliner.  It doesn’t work that way either.  God wants us up and on our feet, working, serving, sacrificing and fighting till the end, whenever and however that may happen.
 
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
 
Dene Ward

I always had themed recitals for my students, including skits and ensemble numbers.  I seldom had to hear parents complaining about boring recitals. 
One year we had one called "Mystery!"  All of the songs and piano pieces had titles like "Spooky Footsteps," "Descent into the Crypt," "Through the Night Mist," and "Dixieland Detectives."  All the students came dressed as a famous detective from TV or fiction.  We had Sherlock Holmes, Dr Kay Scarpetta, Magnum PI, Columbo, and Miss Scarlet from the Clue game, among many others.
            Nathan was home from college that week and he and I worked up a special duet.  First, I put him in his college chorus tuxedo and introduced him as the detective whose theme he and I would be performing—Peter Gunn.  If you don't know the name, Peter Gunn was the first detective created for television rather than being adapted from some other media.  The show starred Craig Stevens and Lola Albright, who played his girlfriend Edie Hart.  It debuted on September 22, 1958 and ran for three seasons.  Even if you have never seen the show (I never saw one until I was grown and saw it on the oldies channel), I bet you have heard the music.  Talk about modern and catchy—this one has it all.  Blue notes, syncopation, quarter note triplets against a steady eighth note beat.  You can't help but move something when you hear it—a toe, a knee, a shoulder or two.  It won an Emmy and two Grammys for Henry Mancini and was performed and recorded by many others.  Nathan and I have played it in a couple of places since then, and it is always an audience pleaser.
            Audience pleasers.  That's a good phrase when you are talking about a concert performance.  That's what a concert is for—pleasing the audience.  That is NOT what worship is about.  Worship is about pleasing God.  I happened to think about that when a song leader I know, a trained musician, by the way, who does an outstanding job of leading, told me that he was criticized for leading "boring songs."
            First of all, who exactly is being bored?  If it's the audience, then maybe they should remember what they are doing—worshipping God not pleasing themselves.  That ought to take care of the "boring" problem right there.
            Second, why is it "boring?"  If it's because they don't have enough Bible knowledge to recognize Biblical references, nor enough depth to their thinking to understand the allusions and feel the goosebumps at some of the most beautiful poetry ever written, then they should be ashamed of themselves.  The Bible may be easy to understand, but it is not a comic book.  Nor is it a See-Jane-Run first grade primer.  The older I get, the more I love the songs that speak the Word of God in lyrics that truly make me think and keep me thinking long after the last chord has rung in the rafters. 
            Neither the song leader, the prayer leader, nor the preacher should have to try so hard to keep our attention if our worship is sincere.  If the only things that keep me interested in either the singing or the sermons and classes is laughter-inducing stories, toe-tapping rhythm, and shoulder-lifting blue notes, I may as well roll in a piano and have Nathan come with me and play a rousing rendition of "Peter Gunn."  I promise you'll like it and won't be bored.  Whether or not you get anything spiritual from it, whether or not you hear any teaching and admonishing, whether or not God is pleased, is another matter altogether.
 
But solid food is for the mature, for those who have their powers of discernment trained by constant practice to distinguish good from evil.  (Heb 5:14).
 
Dene Ward

I have been a Star Trek fan since Captain Kirk sat on the bridge of the first USS Enterprise—the first Starship Enterprise, that is—on September 8, 1966 (our time).  I wasn’t even a teenager then and didn’t realize until years later how ahead of its time it was, nor that the strongest episodes were really parables.  Remember the two aliens who had faces half black and half white, and who hated one another because one had the black half on the right side and the other’s black half was on the left?  Our biases make just as much sense, that episode taught us.
            The show worked for me because of the characters and their relationships with each other.  If it had been all about gizmos and explosions, I would have lost interest quickly.  I knew who they were, their backgrounds, their likes and dislikes, and their pet phrases.  When Star Trek: The Next Generation came along, the producers really hit the jackpot and this time people were ready for it.  It’s a shame that the television movers and shakers still looked down their noses.  Patrick Stewart deserved a couple of Emmys.  Brent Spiner deserved even more.
            Get a couple of Trekkies together and they will talk for hours about favorite characters and episodes.  To them these people are almost real.  And they will spot the discrepancies between episodes or movies in an instant.  When Scottie showed up on TNG, having survived in a continuous transporter buffer pattern for 75 years, and thought Jim Kirk was still alive and had come to his rescue, my antenna twitched.  You see, in Star Trek: Generations, the movie that put Capt Kirk and Capt Picard together for the first and only time, Scottie saw Jim Kirk die.  He would not have expected to be saved by him.  The producers should have caught that.
            I’m sure you are already getting the point.  When we are really interested in something, we will spend hours on it.  We will take it in and remember it.  We will catch on to every detail, no matter how trivial and useless.  Why, who is to say it’s useless?  Have you noticed that no fictional character will sneeze or cough unless he’s doomed to a virus that affects the plot?  And everyone knows that the previously unknown character in the red shirt will soon be zapped by the alien.
            Doesn’t it strike you as odd that people who claim to be children of God know so little about His word?  That people who call themselves disciples of Christ have a problem remembering the main events of his life?  Forget about the details.  (Quick!  Name Jesus’ brothers.  How about his cousins?  Name all eleven of the Simons/Simeons in the Bible.  Which apostles were known by at least three names?)
            As people of God we should be interested in Him and his life.  We ought to want nothing more than to know His will and do it.  We should be able to talk about it for hours and look for every opportunity to learn even more.  I know people who can list Erica Kane’s husbands in order, or recite the starting lineups for all their favorite pro teams, including stats and colleges.  Some of these people are Christians whose Bible knowledge wouldn’t fill a thimble.
            Trekkies are called that for a reason.  They know that James T Kirk was (will be?) born on March 22, 2228, in Riverside, Iowa.  They know that Spock’s full name is S’chn T’gai Spock.  They can even speak a few words of Klingon, a language that doesn’t even exist! NUQ DAQ YUJ DA’POL = “Where’s the chocolate?” a phrase everyone should know, whether Klingon or Terran!
            Christians are called that for a reason as well.  Do you fit the description?
 
But the LORD sits enthroned forever; he has established his throne for justice, and he judges the world with righteousness; he judges the peoples with uprightness. The LORD is a stronghold for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble. And those who know your name put their trust in you, for you, O LORD, have not forsaken those who seek you, Psa 9:7-10.
 
Dene Ward

Suppose someone places a blank piece of paper in front of you.  How would you feel about it?  What thoughts come to mind?  It all depends upon the circumstances, doesn’t it? 
           Novelist, short story writer, and playwright Truman Capote spent the last ten years of his life battling that blank piece of paper--writer's block.  He told everyone about his upcoming masterpiece, but after his death on August 25, 1984, the so-called masterpiece, published posthumously, was little more than a collection of four previously published pieces mocking his rich friends.  Those same friends ostracized him after the original articles appeared in Esquire, and it is supposed that is what led to both his writer's block and what some believe was a nervous breakdown.  Writer's block for anyone can be rough, but for someone who makes his living that way, it can be disastrous.  (mentalfloss.com, 10 Cases of Extreme Writer's Block)
            So back to that blank piece of paper.  If you are in a classroom on the day of final exams and that piece of paper is meant for your answers to half a dozen essay questions, it might raise your blood pressure a little.  If you were prepared for that test, maybe it would not rise quite as high.
            If that blank paper were a signed blank check, your excitement might know no bounds, unless, of course, it was a check drawn on your own meager bank account.  That could be disappointing.  
            A blank sheet might signify good news—no demerits, no criminal record, no symptoms.  What a relief!
            A blank piece of paper might mean the same writer’s block Capote experienced if it has been sitting there awhile—10 years for him.  I know from experience that frustration usually accompanies that problem.  It could also mean great potential if inspiration has suddenly struck.  When that happens I am eager to get to work, usually stopping whatever else I am doing immediately to get to it.
            Even with God that blank piece of paper could mean different things.  It might mean a lack of authority.  Jesus said in Matt 21:25 that there are two places from which to receive authority—from Heaven or from men.  Either God authorized the action or men did, and the people he spoke to, who neither liked nor respected him, didn’t bother to argue because the point was axiomatic.  God expects every aspect of our lives to be lived according to His authority.  Whatever you do, in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus…Col 3:17.
            He expects us to respect that authority, doing exactly what it gives us permission to do, but, in the case of a blank piece of paper, doing nothing.  When God told the Israelites that the priests were to come from the tribe of Levi, he did not have to list all the tribes they could NOT come from.  That is the Hebrew writer’s precise point when he says of Jesus, For it is evident that our Lord has sprung out of Judah, as to which tribe Moses spoke nothing concerning priests, Heb 7:14.  The very fact that God said in the Law of Moses, “Levi,” meant Judah was excluded, and that in turn means that for Jesus to be our new High Priest the law itself had to change.  We could go on and on with this point, but suffice it to say that when God gives you a blank piece of paper, He does not expect you to fill it in with your own choices.
            But He does give us a blank piece of paper that is amazing and wonderful—a page wiped clean of its list of sins, so clean there are not even any erasure smudges on it.  When God forgives it is as if He crumpled the old list and destroyed it, pulling out a fresh new clean sheet from an endless supply.
            Start today with that blank piece of paper.  Fill it with as much good as you can because, you see, a blank piece of paper is one thing God will never accept from us.
 
Wash yourselves; make yourselves clean.  Put away the evil of your doings from before my eyes.  Cease to do evil; learn to do well:  seek justice, relieve the oppressed, bring justice to the fatherless, plead for the widow.  Come now and let us reason together, says Jehovah.  Though your sins be as scarlet they shall be as white as snow; though they be red, they shall be as wool, Isa 1:16-18.   
 
Dene Ward

Whew!  It’s over for another year.  Some of it is in the freezer—blueberries, strawberries, tomato sauce, corn, pole beans, white acre peas, blackeyes, and limas—but quite a bit sits on the shelves of the back pantry in those clear sturdy Mason jars: two kinds of cucumber pickles, squash pickles, okra pickles, pickled banana peppers, pickled jalapenos, tomatoes, salsa, ketchup, tomato jam, strawberry jam, pepper jelly, pear preserves, muscadine juice, and muscadine jelly.
            The first time I ever canned I was scared to death.  First, the pressure canner scared me.  I had heard too many stories of blown up pots and collard greens hanging from the ceiling like the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, but once I had used it a few times without incident, and really understood how it worked, that fear left me. 
            Home canners are actually not just decades old, but centuries.  French physicist Denis Papin invented a "steam digester"—the first pressure cooker.  Born on August 22, 1647, he also suggested the piston and cylinder steam engine, which was invented later by someone else, but his designs were the impetus.  Papin's Digester, as his pressure cooker was called, raised the cooking temperature inside to 266 degrees, which cooked foods quicker without losing their nutrients.
              I may be an old hand at the pressure canner these days, but I still follow the rules.  If I don't, it will blow up.  No amount of sincerity on my part will keep that from happening if I let the pressure get too high. 
            I also follow the sterilization rules and the rules about how much pressure for how long and how much acidity is required for steam canning.  Botulism, a food poisoning caused by foods that have been improperly canned, is a particularly dangerous disease.  Symptoms include severe abdominal pain, vomiting, blurred vision, muscle weakness and eventual paralysis.  You’d better believe I carefully follow all the rules for home canning.  I give away a lot of my pickles and jams.  Not only do I not want botulism, I certainly don’t want to give it to anyone else either.
            Some folks chafe at rules.  Maybe that’s why they don’t follow God’s rules.  They want to take the Bible and pick and choose what suits them.  “Authority?” they scoff.  “Overrated and totally unnecessary.”  Authority does matter and a lot of people in the Bible found out the hard way.  Whatever you do in word or in deed, do all in the name of {by the authority of} the Lord Jesus…Col 3:17.  You might pay special attention to the context of that verse too.
            God’s people were warned over and over to follow His rules, to, in fact, be careful to follow His rules, Deut 5:1.  I counted 31 times in the Pentateuch alone.  Not following those rules resulted in death for many and captivity for others.  When Ezra and Nehemiah brought the remnant back to Jerusalem, once again they were warned, at least five times in those two short books.  Maybe suffering the consequences of doing otherwise made the need for so much repetition a little less.
            David had a way of looking at God’s rules that we need to consider.  For I have kept the ways of the Lord, and have not wickedly departed from my God.  For all his rules were before me, and from his statutes I did not turn aside, 2 Sam 22:22,23. Many of David’s psalms talk about God’s rules, but the 119th mentions them 17 times.  David calls those rules good, helpful, comforting, righteous, praiseworthy, enduring, hope-inducing, true, and life-giving.  How can anyone chafe at something so wonderful?
            People simply don’t want rules, especially with God.  God is supposed to be loving and kind and accept me as I am.  No.  God knows that the way we are will only bring death.  We must follow the rules in order to live.  We must love the rules every bit as much as David did.  I will praise you with an upright heart when I learn your righteous rules…My soul is consumed with longing for your rules at all times…When I think of your rules from of old, I take comfort, O Lord…Great is your mercy O Lord, give me life according to your rules, 119:7, 20, 52, 156.
            I get out my canning guide and faithfully follow the rules every summer.  I never just guess at it; I never say, “That’s close enough.”  I know if I don’t follow those rules someone could die, maybe me or one of my good friends or one of my precious children or grandchildren.  I bet there is something in your life with rules just as important that you follow faithfully.  Why then, are we so careless with the most important rules we have ever been given?
 
For this is the love of God, that we keep his commandments. And his commandments are not burdensome, 1 John 5:3.
 
Dene Ward

Joseph Lodge opened his first foundry in South Pittsburg, Tennessee, in 1896, naming it after a friend:  The Blacklock Foundry.  In May 1910 it burned to the ground, but he opened again a few blocks south with an initial filing date as a For Profit Corporation on August 19, 1910, naming it the Lodge Manufacturing Company.  It has been going strong for over 100 years, and my own skillet came from that company.
          I grew up watching my mother use her cast iron skillet.  She fried chicken, hamburgers, eggs, country fried steak, pork chops, and hash in it.  I suppose I began with grilled cheese sandwiches, something I still love but have to limit now.  Some days, though, a crisp on the outside, gooey on the inside, hot all over, buttered pair of bread slices (usually multi-grain in a nod to health) is the only thing that will satisfy.
            When I received my own cast iron skillet as a wedding present I was confused.  My mother’s was deep black, smooth and shiny.  This thing was the same shape, the same heft, but gray, dull, and rough.  “You have to season it,” she told me, and even though I followed the directions exactly, greasing and heating it over and over and over, it was probably ten years before my skillet finally began to look like hers.  Seasoning cannot be done quickly, no matter what they say, and in the early stages can be undone with a moment’s carelessness—like scrubbing it in a sink full of hot soapy water.  A good skillet is never scrubbed, never even wet, but simply wiped out, a thin patina of oil left on the surface.            
            Faith is a little like a cast iron skillet—it has to be seasoned.  Let me explain.
            In the middle of some study a few weeks ago I made a discovery that made me laugh out loud.  “…the churches were strengthened in the faith,” we are told in Acts 16:5.  I am not a Greek scholar, but sometimes just looking at a word gives you a clue.  The word translated “strengthened” is stereoo.  “Stereo?” I thought, automatically anglicizing it, and a moment later got the point.  Faith may begin as “mono”—undoubtedly the Philippian jailor who believed and was baptized “in the same hour of the night” had a one dimensional faith.  He hadn’t had time to develop beyond the point of “I believe that Jesus is the Son of God,” but I imagine after awhile he had seasoned his faith with layer after layer of growth.  It had become a “stereo” faith.
            Think about it.  The Abraham who left Ur at the word of God, giving up far more than we usually realize in worldly goods and prominence, was not the same Abraham who offered his son over forty years later.  That first Abraham was still so timid he would willingly deceive people about the woman traveling with him.  Yet God did not give up on him, and he did not give up on God.  He grew, adding layer after layer to a faith that eventually made him the father of the faithful.
            The Peter who tried to walk on water may have shortly thereafter confessed Christ, but he wasn’t the same Peter who sat in Herod’s prison in Acts 12, and he certainly wasn’t the same Peter who ultimately lost his life for his Lord.  He used all the earlier experiences to season a faith that endured to the end.
            It isn’t that God is not satisfied with the faith we have at any given moment, but He does expect us to grow, to season that faith with years of endurance and service.  Seasoning takes heat, and the heat of affliction may be the thing that seasons us.  We never know what may be required, but God expects us to keep adding those layers, to get beyond the “mono” faith to a “stereo” faith, a multi-faceted, deeply layered condition, not just a little saying we repeat when we want to prove we are Christians.
            How does your skillet look today?  Is it still gray and rough, or have you taken the time to season it with prayer and study, enduring the heat of toil and affliction, and turned it into an indispensable tool, one you use everyday to feed and strengthen your soul?
 
For I know that my Redeemer lives, and at the last he will stand upon the earth. And after my skin has been thus destroyed, yet in my flesh I shall see God, whom I shall see for myself, and my eyes shall behold, and not another. My heart faints within me! Job 19:25-27
 
Dene Ward

Man has been using tents since the dawn of civilization.  The oldest one found was in Moldava, a mammoth skin draped around mammoth bones.  Mammoth—that's the Ice Age, people.
            How did they make those ancient tents waterproof?  With animal fat, which made for a very stinky domicile.  Teepees and yurts were the next phase, and they were still stinky.  Finally nylon was invented in the 1930s and that became the material of choice for a long time.
            You can find all sorts of patents on tents, each claiming to be the next big step in comfort, ease in assembly, portability, size, whatever it is you want.  For this topic I chose the patent that was published on August 4, 1959 because of this phrase:  the said tent was "quite capable of standing up to any weather even without anchoring or reinforcement."  Remember that for a few minutes.
            Our first tent was a Camel dome.  The box said 10 x 12, which I never really understood since it was a hexagon.  It said “sleeps 6” so we thought two adults and two small children would fit just fine.  We learned to look at the fine print.  A diagram did indeed show six sleeping bags fitting in the tent floor—like sardines in a can, and the sleeping bags like mummy wrappings.  The only place even I could stand up straight was the direct center of the tent, where you could never stand because of the sleeping bags covering the floor, so you always stood bent over.
            Before long, the boys received a smaller dome as a gift and Keith and I had the larger one to ourselves.  Now that we are alone, and camp “in style” as our boys accuse, we have a 16 x 10.  A queen-size air mattress fits nicely and we can still stand up in more than one place inside.
            But tents are not houses.  The paper-thin walls mean you hear your neighbors all too well, and they would be absolutely no protection from wild animals.  So far we have only had to deal with raccoons, but if a bear came along we might be in trouble.
            Those walls also mean that in cold weather you are going to be cold too.  We have learned that with a waterproof rainfly overhead, we can plug in a small space heater and raise the temperature as much as 15 degrees inside—but when the temperature outside is 30, that’s not a lot of relief.
            Usually our tents are dry, but on our last trip we were suddenly leaking.  When we got home we found out why.  The seam sealer tape had come loose.  Rainwater simply rolled down the fly till it found a place where the tape hung unfastened.  Then it dripped through--on the floor, on the boxes we were trying to keep dry, and on our bed.  So much for "standing up to any weather," as that 1959 patent claimed.  As comfortable and advanced as they make them these days, there is no confusing a tent with a house.
            The Bible has a whole lot to say about tents.  Abraham and Sarah were called away from a comfortable home in a large city to live in tents for the rest of their lives.  Though God promised them that their descendants would someday own that land, they never owned any of it until Abraham bought a cave to bury Sarah in.  But one of the tests of their faith was those very tents they lived in.  Did they really believe God enough to stay in them?  Yes, they did, the Hebrew writer makes it plain.  They understood perfectly the temporary nature of those tents and the promise they stood for, Heb 11:8-16.
            The Israelites lived in tents for 40 years.  Their tents were punishment for a lack of faith. Yet even after they finally received their Promised Land, God insisted they remember those tents during the harvest feasts, to remind them who had given them the land and the bounty it produced, Lev 23:42,43.  But the people refused, until once again they were punished for refusing to rely on God. That feast was not observed until the return from captivity.  And all the assembly of those who had returned from the captivity made booths and lived in the booths, for from the days of Jeshua the son of Nun to that day the people of Israel had not done so. And there was very great rejoicing. Neh 8:17. 
            Paul calls our bodies tents in 1 Cor 15.  As amazing as the human body is because of its Creator, it is still a fragile thing compared to the immortal body we hope to receive.  We are often too wrapped up in the physical life those tents represent to remember that.  It seems like a long life.  It seems like everything that happens here is important.  It even seems like we can take care of ourselves.  WE make the living that feeds us and houses us and clothes these bodies.  We live on the retirement WE have carefully put away for the future.  Just like Israel we forget who really supplies our needs. 
            On several occasions I have wakened in the middle of the night on a camping trip to a storm blowing outside.  The wind billows the sides of the tent and the rain pours as if someone had upended huge buckets over our heads.  The lightning flashes and you suddenly wish you hadn’t so carefully chosen the shady spot under the big tree. 
            Once, in the middle of one of those storms, I suddenly heard a loud crack followed by a WHUMP!  The next morning, we crawled out of the tent and saw a huge limb lying on the ground about thirty feet away.  If that limb had fallen on our tent, we might not have survived it.  A tent would certainly not have stopped its fall.
            What are you trusting in today, the feeble tents of this life, or the house that God will give you?  A mortal body that, no matter how diligently you care for it, will eventually decay, or a celestial body that will last for eternity?  The things that "tent" can do for you, or the protection that God’s house provides?  From the beginning, God has meant a tent to symbolize instability and transience.  He has always meant us to trust him to someday supply us with a permanent home, one we will share with him.  Tents, even the Tabernacle itself, have always symbolized a glorious promise.
            Don’t choose a tent when God has something so much better waiting for you.
 
For we know that if the tent that is our earthly home is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens, 2 Cor 5:1.\
 
Dene Ward

Croquet has a long and unsure history as a game.  The things we do know even seem to be in dispute.  Sometime in the early 1850s, a woman named Mary Workman-MacNaghten, whose father was a baronet in Ireland, went to a London toy maker named Isaac Spratt, and asked him to make a croquet set.  Her family had played the game long before she was born "by tradition," which means no written set of rules, using mallets made by local carpenters.  Her brother eventually wrote down the rules they used.  Spratt made some sets and printed out those rules.  He registered his creation with the Stationers' Company in 1856, but the copyright form gives the date as August 2, 1853, plenty of time for Lewis Carroll to make the game even more famous in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.
            When our boys were in middle school we gave them a croquet set.  At first they seemed a little disappointed—croquet?  How boring.  Then we actually started playing and they discovered strategy, like whacking your opponent completely out of bounds with one of your free shots.  Now that was fun.
            We have settled down to annual games during the holidays whenever we get together.  It is the perfect way to let the turkey digest, and we usually wind up playing two or three times.  But that time of year means a less than clear playing field on what is already a rollercoaster lawn.  Our yard, you see, isn’t exactly a lawn.  It’s an old watermelon field, and though the rows have settled somewhat after thirty-odd years, we still have low spots, gopher holes, ant hills, and armadillo mounds.  But in the fall we also have sycamore leaves the size of paper plates, pine cones, piles of Spanish moss, and cast off twigs from the windy fronts that come through every few days between October and March.  You cannot keep it cleaned up if you want to do something besides yard work with your life.  So when you swing your mallet, no matter how carefully you have aimed, you never really know where your ball will end up.  We call it “ultimate croquet.”  Anyone who is used to a tabletop green lawn would be easy pickings for one of us—even me, the perennial loser.
            All those “hazards” make for an interesting game of croquet, but let me tell you something.  I have learned the hard way that an interesting life is not that great.  I have dug ditches in a flooding rainstorm, cowered over my children during a tornado, prayed all night during a hurricane, climbed out of a totaled car, followed an ambulance all the way to the hospital, hugged a seizing baby in my lap as we drove ninety down country roads to the doctor’s office, bandaged bullet wounds, hauled drinking water and bath water for a month, signed my life away before experimental surgeries—well, you get the picture. Give me dull and routine any day. 
            Dull and routine is exactly what Paul told Timothy to pray for.  I exhort therefore, first of all, that supplications, prayers, intercessions, thanksgivings, be made for all men; for kings and all that are in high place; that we may lead a tranquil and quiet life in all godliness and gravity. This is good and acceptable in the sight of God our Savior; who would have all men to be saved, and come to the knowledge of the truth, 1 Tim 2:1-5. 
            Did you catch that?  Pray that our leaders will do what is necessary for us to have a “tranquil and quiet life” so that all men can “come to a knowledge of the truth.”  God’s ministers cannot preach the gospel in a country where everyone is in hiding or running in terror from the enemy, where you never have enough security to sit down with a man and discuss something spiritual for an hour or so, where you wonder how you will feed your family that night, let alone the next day.  The Pax Romana was one of the reasons the gospel could spread—peace in the known world.  That along with the ease of travel because every country was part of the same empire and a worldwide language made the first century “the fullness of times” predicted in the prophets.
            I don’t have much sympathy for people who are easily bored, who seem to think that life must always be exciting or it isn’t worth living.  I am here to tell you that excitement isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.  And God gave us plenty to do during those dull, routine times.  It’s called serving others and spreading the Word.  If you want some excitement, try that.  It’s even better than Ultimate Croquet.
 
Now concerning brotherly love you have no need for anyone to write to you, for you yourselves have been taught by God to love one another, for that indeed is what you are doing to all the brothers throughout Macedonia. But we urge you, brothers, to do this more and more, and to aspire to live quietly, and to mind your own affairs, and to work with your hands, as we instructed you, 1 Thes 4:9-11.
 
Dene Ward