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

For thousands of years, people have tried to accurately predict the weather.  Beginning at least as early as the Babylonians in 650 BC, they have used things like cloud patterns, astrology, the movement of the winds, lunar phases, and even the "signs of the times" as Jesus mentions in Matthew 16:2,3.  The invention of the telegraph in 1835 finally put us in the age of modern weather forecasting.  Word of coming weather could reach a town almost instantaneously.  However, even that was sometimes too late for people to prepare adequately.
            In the mid-1800s, Francis Beaufort and Robert FitzRoy are credited with developing weather forecasting (meteorology) as a science.  As Royal Navy officers in England, they had many contacts in both the Navy and government so even though the press ridiculed them, their work gained the credence it deserved in a short time.  The first ever daily weather forecasts began to be published in the London Times on August 1, 1861.  The methods may have been upgraded, but almost all weather forecasting today is based upon the work of Beaufort and FitzRoy.  Yet weathermen have one thing against them—one really big thing.
            A few years ago we had a rainy winter, and then a rainy spring.  The summer isn't such a problem because the subtropical sun boils the water out of the ground fairly quickly in spite of constant afternoon thunderstorms.  But on cool days, even with much lower humidity than summer, puddles and boggy ground last much longer.  Rivers and creeks overflow.  Sometimes country roads become impassable.  Farmers lament their inability to get into the fields where there is standing water here and there and miry bogs everywhere else, and know that even if they could plant, the seed would rot in the saturated soil instead of germinating.  And all that water can breed mosquitoes almost overnight.
            So on a weekend when we had already measured over three inches of rain and a 90% chance of "heavy rain" was predicted for two more days, we were a little concerned.  We prayed hard for God to send us clear skies and no more rain.  That is exactly what He did.  The puddles dried fairly quickly, and the dark, wet ground began to look like pale gray Florida sand again. 
            And that is the poor old weatherman's problem.  For a week he had predicted heavy rains those two days, and he turned out wrong.  Was he wrong because his science was wrong?  No, he was wrong because he is not the one in control.  We make fun of him all the time—"He never gets it right"—which is probably not accurate in itself.  He does get it right fairly often.  But think of what he has going against him.  Think of all the Christians out there praying that he will be wrong, and a Heavenly Father who listens to His children and often does what they ask.  The weatherman doesn't stand a chance.  That he gets anything right is a notable thing, and once again only due to a Father who has ordered the world to run in a certain way, on a certain timetable of seasons, fronts, and heat waves.
            Or do we believe that?  I think I have some brothers and sisters who don't.   Then why do you pray at all, may I ask?  Maybe we don't get what we ask for because we don't truly believe it is even possible to receive it.
            Who do you believe?  God or the poor, old weatherman?
 
And this is the confidence that we have toward him, that if we ask anything according to his will he hears us. And if we know that he hears us in whatever we ask, we know that we have the requests that we have asked of him (1John 5:14-15).
 
Dene Ward

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” are 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

Samuel Colt, the founder of the Colt Patent Fire-Arm Manufacturing Company was born in Hartford, Connecticut on July 19, 1814.  Perhaps his most famous gun is the Colt Single Action Army Peacemaker.
            Isn’t it ironic that “peacemaker” is the name of a gun?  The Peacemaker was designed in 1873 and the standard military service pistol until 1892.  I sometimes think we must have the same definition for “peacemaker”—a weapon of war. 
            More and more I see people starting fights over things not worth fighting about.  More and more I see people not only excusing their aggressive behavior, but justifying it as righteous.  Maybe it is because I am older now, but “zealous” no longer means “quick to fight” to me, and I think it never did to God.
            “Blessed are the peacemakers,” is not a concept foreign to the old law.  God’s people have always understood that righteousness is not about contention.  David is a prime example.
            He refused to harm Saul, whom he called “the Lord’s anointed,” even though Saul had sworn to kill him, 1 Sam 24:6.
            He bowed before Saul, even though he himself had been anointed king, 24:8.
            He promised not to harm Saul’s heirs, even though they might have tried to claim the throne God wanted him to have, 24:21,22.
            It’s easier when those around you have the same attitude, but David even managed to keep his peacemaking attitude when surrounded by warmongers, Psa 120:6,7.
            Yet this is a man who did fight for God, who lived in a time of a physical kingdom that fought physical wars against physical enemies.  He bravely went into battles and killed God’s adversaries, so much so that he was not allowed to build the Temple with his blood-stained hands, so we cannot call him a wimpy, namby-pamby by any means.  He simply knew when it was time to fight and when it wasn’t.  Like Paul in Acts 16:3 and Gal 2:3-5, he depended on the circumstances to help him decide what justified either action in exactly the same issue, and never let his passion for God push him further than he knew his Father would want.  It wasn’t about having his own way, about not allowing anyone to tell him what he could and couldn’t do.  In all things the ultimate mission, God’s mission, was his goal, not saving face.
            Jesus’ mission was the same—peace.  He brought peace between men (Eph. 2:12-14) and peace between man and God (Rom 5:1-2).  Then he told us that was our mission too—bringing peace to the world. 
            Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be called the children of God.  Whose children are you?
 
It is an honor for a man to keep aloof from strife, but every fool will be quarreling. Turn away from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it. Strive for peace with everyone, and for the holiness without which no one will see the Lord. If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all. Finally, brothers, rejoice. Aim for restoration, comfort one another, agree with one another, live in peace; and the God of love and peace will be with you. Prov 20:3; Psa 34:14; Heb 12:14; Rom 12:18; 2 Cor 13:11.
 
Dene Ward