On June 15, 1215, on the banks of the Thames River at Runnymede, England, King John of England was forced by a bunch of rebellious barons to sign the Magna Carta.  Although it was annulled by Pope Innocent III two months later, it set the foundation for the future English legal system and influenced our founding fathers in the writing of the Constitution and the Bill of Rights.  Precisely because of the Magna Carta we have freedom from unlawful search and seizure, the right to a speedy trial, the right to a jury trial, the writ of habeas corpus, and protection against the loss of life, liberty, and property without due process of law, among other things.  For a "failed" document, it certainly accomplished a lot.
            However, as we often point out, while we should be grateful for our rights under law, claiming our rights at the expense of souls is wrong, not right.  For instance…      
            When Covid began its ugly reign, we had a problem.  Wearing a mask was everyone's handy-dandy solution.  Not in this house.  When one of you is deaf and needs to read lips, it simply won't work.  And then there is the issue of claustrophobia I have had my whole life.  Warm stale air equals suffocation to my mind.  HOWEVER…
            When we go out, when we buy groceries, when we have a doctor appointment, when we assemble with the saints, if we are asked to wear a mask, we do.  Some people think that makes us "sheep."  Why would we act this way?  It's simple if you read your New Testament.
            When one of you has a grievance against another, does he dare go to law before the unrighteous instead of the saints? Or do you not know that the saints will judge the world? And if the world is to be judged by you, are you incompetent to try trivial cases? Do you not know that we are to judge angels? How much more, then, matters pertaining to this life! So if you have such cases, why do you lay them before those who have no standing in the church? I say this to your shame. Can it be that there is no one among you wise enough to settle a dispute between the brothers, but brother goes to law against brother, and that before unbelievers? To have lawsuits at all with one another is already a defeat for you. Why not rather suffer wrong? Why not rather be defrauded? But you yourselves wrong and defraud—even your own brothers!  (1Cor 6:1-8).
            No, masks have nothing to do with suing one another—at least that I have heard of yet.  (But give it time.)  The passage is not really about that.  The prohibition against making lawsuits against a brother is just one specific example of ceding my rights because the mission of the church and its reputation in the community around it is more important than anyone's rights!  It is the Lord's church and the mission He gave that body of believers that matter.  Notice what Paul says:  "Why not rather suffer wrong?"  When I demand my rights about anything that hurts the cause of Christ, I have forgotten not only who I serve, but the very definition of being a disciple—following in your Master's footsteps.  What if he had claimed his rights as Creator instead of climbing up on that cross?  Where would we be then?  He suffered wrong, and was defrauded, to save us.
            Paul goes on to say in that passage above, that when I claim my rights regardless of the consequences, I am actually defrauding my brethren because of how I have made them look to the outsiders around us.  I am the one who has wronged them.
            When I do wear a mask, I am being the follower of the Suffering Servant, who, by the way, was called the Lamb of God.  If voluntarily wearing a mask makes me one of His lambs, I am happy to be called a "sheep."
 
A disciple is not above his teacher, nor a servant above his master. It is enough for the disciple to be like his teacher, and the servant like his master. (Matt 10:24-25).
 
For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you might follow in his steps. He committed no sin, neither was deceit found in his mouth. When he was reviled, he did not revile in return; when he suffered, he did not threaten, but continued entrusting himself to him who judges justly. He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By his wounds you have been healed.  (1Pet 2:21-24).
 
​To one who strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also, and from one who takes away your cloak do not withhold your tunic either.  (Luke 6:29).
 
Dene Ward
 

I bet you have all used them sometime in your life, maybe even every day.  Leo Gerstenzang, who was born in Poland on June 3, 1892, invented the cotton swab.  He sold them under the name "Baby Gays."  We know them as Q-tips, but did you know that the Q stands for "quality?"  And despite doctors' warnings, I bet most of you stick them in your ears.  The doctors may not like it, but sticking a spiritual Q-tip in your figurative ears is a good idea.
           Jesus once made a statement that has always made me flinch.  After the parable of the sower, when listing all the various soils and what went wrong with each hearer, he added, as Luke records it, Be careful therefore, how you hear, 8:18.  In a society big on blaming everyone but ourselves for our problems, this is truly one of the biggest.  Unlike the early church, which seemed to thrive on helping each other overcome problems with confessions and exhortations, we seem to think that no one has the right to tell us anything that might even slightly indicate that we might need to change.  Or we “wear our feelings on our shirtsleeves,” as the old saying goes, so we can be offended at the least provocation.
            Jesus makes it plain in this passage that how I take what people say to me is entirely up to me.  It only makes sense when you think about it.  If I had no control over my reactions to what others say, then it would be to my advantage for people to say hurtful things to me, wouldn’t it?  In fact, getting my feelings hurt would be the ideal way to go.  Then I could be angry and strike back with no qualms at all. 
            I could ignore the rebukes others offered for my sins as long as I felt insulted, and could keep doing them, couldn’t I?  But Paul says in Rom 2:6 that God will render to every man according to his deeds, not according to how someone corrected me.
            I could ignore the one who tells me I am wrong about what I believe if I thought he had evil motives and bad intentions, couldn’t I?  But Paul also says of those who preached with bad intentions, What then? Only that in every way, whether in pretense or in truth, Christ is proclaimed and therein I rejoice, Phil 1:19.
I could hear false teaching and not have to worry about checking it out, right?  But Jesus said in Matt 15:14, they are blind guides and if the blind guide the blind, they both fall into a pit.
            So here is my obligation:  Listen to what others say, and evaluate it based upon truth, not upon how they say it, who they are, and whether or not I like them or their teaching.  Judgment Day will not dawn with three groups of people, including a group who “got their feelings hurt,” or “didn’t like the preacher,” or “were provoked,” and because of that did not do what they should have done.
            There will only be two groups:  the ones who did right and the ones who did not.  Let’s get out those Q-tips and clean out our ears.  Be careful how you hear.
 
He who corrects a scoffer gets to himself reviling, and he who reproves a wicked man gets himself a blot.  Reprove a scoffer and he will hate you; reprove a wise man and he will love you.  Give instruction to a wise man and he will be even wiser; teach a righteous man, and he will increase in learning, Prov 9:7-9
The way of a fool is right in his own eyes, but he who is wise listens to counsel. Prov 12:15
 
Dene Ward

Both solar and lunar eclipses, while easily explained by science, were in the past viewed as frightening omens. 
           Herodotus records that on May 28, 584 BC, a solar eclipse occurred, having been predicted by the Greek philosopher Thales of Miletus.  This happened during the sixth year of a war between the Medes and the Lydians and so impressed them that they stopped their fighting and immediately began to work on peace plans.
            On August 2, 1133, a solar eclipse lasting nearly five minutes occurred in England and was taken as a sign of an important upcoming evil event, possibly an important death.  Sure enough, King Henry I, who had traveled to Normandy around that time, died the same year on December 2.  Despite being four months removed, it was immediately connected to the eclipse.
            All this superstition and fear led Columbus to use it against the Arawaks in Jamaica.  He had run out of food for his crews and he "foretold" a lunar eclipse, using an almanac he had studied.  He told the chief that his Christian God was angry with them for not sharing their food with him and that in three nights He would obliterate the moon and it would be "inflamed with God's wrath."  On March 1, 1504, his "prediction" came true.  Needless to say, the Arawaks were terrified and readily agreed to support Columbus and his men with all the food and supplies they needed.
            But some good things have come from eclipses too.  On May 29, 1919, an eclipse occurred, viewable in a path across South America that included Brazil.  Sir Frank Watson Dyson conducted an experiment there that proved a portion of Einstein's theory of relativity because during that eclipse, several stars that were too close to the sun to be seen and their distance measured, could be while the sun was dark.  Somehow it involves bending light rays, and while it is far too complicated for me to even understand much less explain, I am told it was the most important eclipse in the history of science.
            But there are even more important eclipses than that.
            In a study of faith I did, I found this passage:  I made supplication for you that your faith fail not…Luke 22:32.  I looked up “fail” and found this Greek word, ekleipo. 
            I’ll have to admit—I saw nothing at first.  Finally I looked up other uses of the word and found, just a page over in my Bible, Luke 23:45:  the sun’s light failing.  The context was the crucifixion when, according to the verse just above that one, darkness came over the whole land until the ninth hour.    
            “Aha!” my feeble brain said, “an eclipse,”--ekleipo.  The light of the sun failed because something overshadowed it.  Now how do I use that in my study of faith “failing?”
            Twenty years ago I woke up with what I thought was an earache.  I called the doctor and he prescribed an antibiotic.  The next morning some of the ache was gone, but enough remained for me to discover the true source of the pain—it was a tooth.  I had developed an abscess and the pain had simply radiated to my ear, but the medication at least knocked it back to its original source. This time I called the dentist and left a message.  It was late on a Friday afternoon and I needed to see someone before the weekend. 
            By that time, nearly 48 hours into this, I was moaning on the couch, totally unable to function.  I hadn’t even thought about dinner, much less started cooking it, even though I expected Keith home within the hour.  I hadn’t finished putting the clean sheets on the bed, or washed any dishes all day long.  I hadn’t accomplished any bookkeeping, or filled out the forms that were soon due for my students to enter State Contest.  Nothing mattered but that aching tooth and the sore lump now swelling on my jaw line.
            A few minutes later the phone rang, and I eagerly snatched it up, expecting a dental assistant.  It was an ex-Little League coach of my sons’.  Keith had suffered something resembling a seizure while riding his bike the thirteen miles home from work, and was lying right in front of his house, in the middle of the rural highway. 
            “The ambulance just arrived,” he said.  “I think if you hurry, you can be here before it leaves.”
            What do you think I did?  Lie back down and moan some more?  I was out of that house in a flash and did indeed beat the ambulance’s departure for the hospital.  I sat in that hospital for five days. 
            You can think your faith is important to you.  You can think you would never let anything “eclipse” it.  You can be positive that you are strong enough to handle the most intense trial or the most powerful temptation.  You can be absolutely wrong.
            I have seen men who stood for the faith against the ridicule of false teachers commit adultery.  I have seen women who diligently withstood the long trial of caring for a sick mate become bitter against everyone who ever tried to help them, and ultimately against God himself.  I have seen families who were called “pillars of the church” leave that very group when one of their own fell and was chastised. 
            Look to that passage I found:  I made supplication for you that your faith fail not.  Jesus was speaking to Peter, who subsequently declared, “I am ready to go both to prison and to death,” but not many hours later, denied the Lord when those very things confronted him.  He was not prepared, and his faith was eclipsed by fear.
            Just as surely as my worry over my husband’s health totally eclipsed a very real and intense pain in my physical body, just as certainly as fear eclipsed the faith of a man like Peter, the events of life can eclipse your faith, causing it to fail.  Carnal emotions can overshadow you—lust, bitterness, resentment, hurt feelings among them.  It’s up to us to keep those things in their proper place, to allow nothing to detract from our faith in a God who promises that none of those things really matter because of the spiritual nature of the life to come.  It is, in fact, up to us to be spiritually minded, instead of carnally minded, to put the physical in the shade and let the light of the Truth shine on the spiritual.
            With a spiritual mind-set, nothing can eclipse your faith.  Your faith should, in fact, eclipse everything else.
 
 If then you were raised together with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated on the right hand of God. Set your mind on the things that are above, not on the things that are upon the earth. For you died, and your life is hid with Christ in God, Colossians 3:1-3.                                                                                           
 
Dene Ward

When I was a city girl, over forty years ago, I was scared to death of snakes.  I still don’t like them.  The difference is I can tolerate a non-poisonous one on the property now, trusting they will pay their way with all the rodents they keep out of my house; and when a poisonous one comes along I don’t freeze or run around in circles, screaming in hysteria--I just dispose of the thing.
            You know the best way to kill a snake?  Well, it may not actually be the best way, but the city girl in me thinks it’s perfect—a shotgun full of number one shot.  For those of you who are still city folks, that’s a load for large animals, like deer.  We had a rattler once when Keith was at work, and even though I kept from freezing or panicking to the point of uselessness, I still forgot to unload the larger shot and replace it with number eight, a load for smaller animals.  That means when I shot that snake with that huge shot, I blew it to smithereens.  As I said, I was extremely satisfied.
            Well—mostly satisfied.  The thing kept right on writhing.  Yes, I knew all about their reflexes and that they thrash about after death.  But that thing was flexing and re-flexing entirely too much to suit me.  So I got the .22 pistol and put a few more shots in it.  Then I was satisfied.  When I picked the thing up with the tines of the rake to throw it into the burn barrel, it hung in chunks connected only with a few strings of skin—and it didn’t wiggle at all.  Best looking rattlesnake I ever saw.  The boys can make fun of me all they want, and laugh about it as they have for the past thirty-something years, but that snake was dead and there was no question about it.  And now I have evidence that I might have been right in the first place.
            On May 27, 2018, Jennifer and Jeremy Sutcliffe of Lake Corpus Christi, Texas, were cleaning up their yard for a barbecue later that afternoon.  Jennifer reached into her flower bed and found a four foot Western diamondback rattler who was not happy to be disturbed.  She screamed and Jeremy came running.  He chopped the head off the snake and killed it.  However…
            A few minutes later, he went back to dispose of the head and when he picked it up, the snake bit him.  Jennifer rushed him to a hospital as he was already having seizures, and he was life-flighted to one that had the antivenin he needed.  He went into a coma and it was four days before the doctors thought he might survive after all, which he eventually did.  But we almost had the headline:  "Man Dies of Bite by Dead Rattlesnake."
            So how does something like this happen?  Bryon Shipley, a rattlesnake researcher says, "It is a known fact…that one of the intriguing physiological oddities about snakes and other reptiles is the slowness of the death of…nerves and brain cells…The brain…may remain capable of controlling eye movement, jaw movement, venom gland compression, and even tongue flicking for an hour."  (havesnakewilltravel.com)  Bottom line:  Before you go picking up a dead rattlesnake, you need to wait at least an hour to make sure it's dead.
            Some of us don’t do that.  In fact, we not only leave it writhing, we put it somewhere for safe keeping just in case it isn’t dead after all.  That’s how we treat repentance.  I know I shouldn’t be indulging, so let me put it up on the shelf instead of down here on the counter top where I can see it every day.  No!  Let’s get it out of the house altogether!  Whatever it is.
            It doesn’t have to be a huge sin of the flesh.  It doesn’t have to be a bottle of booze or a stack of pornography.  Sometimes it’s a gossip-fest.  I know that my friend always dishes the dirt, but I still make plans to see her every week.  Or, if for some reason I must see her, then I go with no plan for how to avoid the sin, and yesiree, it pops up and I just couldn’t help it, Lord.  You know how she talks—and how I listen. 
            Whatever it is, God expects me to kill that snake (temptation) and make sure it’s dead.  Another one may come my way, but I should be doing my best to monitor my surroundings so it won't spring back to life.  If it does, maybe I didn’t use the buckshot--I just shot a BB and missed.
            Don’t cuddle up to a rattlesnake.  Kill the thing, and make sure it’s dead.
 
Besides this you know the time, that the hour has come for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we first believed. The night is far gone; the day is at hand. So then let us cast off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light. Let us walk properly as in the daytime, not in orgies and drunkenness, not in sexual immorality and sensuality, not in quarreling and jealousy. But put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires. Romans 13:11-14
 
Dene Ward

On May 8, 2019, Amanda Eller, a thirty-five year old physical therapist and yoga instructor, went for a hike in the Makawao Forest Preserve on Maui.  The reports I have read seem unclear, but it sounds like she went for a jog, lay down to rest and when she woke up was somehow disoriented enough to go in the wrong direction.  Evidently no one was within earshot of her and that evening she was reported lost.  Her car was found in the Hunter's Trail parking lot.  Over 1000 volunteers searched for her for 17 days.  The search helicopter flew over the area again and again.  Finally, 17 days later, on May 25, the pilot decided to go a little farther out and there she was, standing in a creek bed between two waterfalls waving her arms.  Overall she was in good condition, but she was sunburned, had swollen feet, a leg injury (at least two articles I read mentioned a "fracture"), and she had lost 15 pounds.  She had survived on berries, moths and other edible creatures, and rainwater.
            We have been lost a few times ourselves, once in the woods of a North Georgia State Park the story of which you can find in the Camping category, and another time a couple of years ago.  Neither time was life threatening, but they were both a little unnerving. 
            About that last time:  It had already been a frustrating day.  Our Google Map directions had brought us straight to the town we were visiting, but once we hit the city limits, those directions became increasingly vague.  The street we were to follow suddenly ended and we didn't know which way to turn to find our hotel.
            So we headed down the busy road in the direction that seemed right.  The street changed its name at least three times.  No hotel.  We stopped at a gas station, found a man sitting in his car who was willing to help.  He didn't know the hotel but knew where the street was—or so he thought.  Ten minutes later we pulled into a different hotel and they gave us good directions to their competitor.  Turns out the hotel was off the main drag behind two restaurants on a street with no road sign.  You wonder how they stay in business.
            So then it was time for dinner.  We have a favorite restaurant in that town, but it had been many years and things looked very different.  The desk clerk gladly looked it up and handed us directions.  And once again the street we were looking for was not there.  We wound up at exactly the same gas station.  This time we went inside and none of the workers there knew either the restaurant (it has been there for 50 years!) or the street. Finally, as we walked dejectedly out the door, a young man with a Smart Phone chased us down and looked it up for us.  We weren't far away and the directions were simple.
            Then it was time to return to the hotel.  Based upon our memory of the man's phone map, the restaurant road ran parallel to the one the gas station was on and should have led us right back to the hotel road, coming out even closer to the hotel.  But that road curved every which way, was full of forks, and we came out somewhere entirely different—which we did not realize at first because now it was too dark to read street signs and had begun to rain.  By the time we figured out our error, we were so far out, no one could direct us.  "What road?  Never heard of it."
            Finally someone had heard of it—the fourth one we asked, and we did make it back.  What should have been a ten minute drive had taken over an hour, and we had gone through the gamut of emotions—from frustration to aggravation to desperation.  Fear and hopelessness were just the corner, kept at bay by my stubborn refusal to become a drama queen, whining and blubbering my way into senseless hysteria.
            But it made both of us stop and think about those who are really lost.  What is it like to be out there looking for direction and getting no help at all?  I'm afraid my view of that town will forever more be that none of the roads are straight, they all change names confusingly, and none of its populace has any idea where they themselves are either.
            We all need to be like that young man with the Smart Phone, not only willing to help when asked, but going to the trouble of chasing down someone in obvious need.   They may not be in dire physical need, but everyone is or has been lost in a spiritual way that is far more serious than even Amanda Eller's plight.  There are lost souls out there, people.  Frustrated people, fearful people, desperate people who need our help.  A lot of Christians are so wrapped up in themselves, in their own earthly destinations and goals, that they don't see those who are wandering around, hopelessly lost.  And quite a few of them don't know where they are either.
            Pay attention today.  They may not wave their arms to get your attention.  You may need to fly over more than once or twice.  Make sure you know where you are first and then be on the lookout for others.
 
I am under obligation both to Greeks and to barbarians, both to the wise and to the foolish. So I am eager to preach the gospel to you… (Rom 1:14-15)
 
Dene Ward        

On May 24, 2019, the FDA approved the drug Zolgensma (onasemnogene abeparvovec-xioi) for the treatment of pediatric cases of SMA-1.  It was a day to rejoice for our extended family.
          My grandniece has Spinal Muscular Atrophy Type 1.  SMA-1 is a disease that causes progressive loss of motor neurons, leading to muscle weakness and atrophy.  Type 1 usually shows in babies 6 months and under.  The infants will have difficulty moving, eating, breathing, and swallowing.  They will be unable to lift their heads on their own and unable to sit up on their own.  Most victims of this disease do not survive past age 2 due to respiratory failure.  Abigail has already survived the odds, but her life is not an easy one.
            Abigail must often be rushed to the hospital.  Even a simple cold could be the end.  She recently gave us a fright as she was once again loaded into an ambulance and carted off first to an ER and then a PICU.  Abigail takes it all in stride, and today she is going to teach us a lesson we all need to hear. 
            My niece, Abigail's mother, posted the following on Facebook.
---------------
           "Abigail's full name is Abigail Andreia (on-DRAY-uh) Saltz.
        [Her father] was very partial to "Abigail," and I...was not. He always wanted purely Biblical names for our children and I told him we could use Abigail IF he could think of a middle name that had three syllables, accent on the second syllable. He stretched his Biblical names rule by choosing a Greek word for her middle name meaning "brave," because it seemed a fitting descriptor for the queen we were naming her after and an admirable quality to live up to.
           Wow. The things you don't know.
           I have told Abigail what her middle name means so many times now that she thinks her *actual name* is Abigail Andreia Brave Saltz. When she has to do something scary she says, 'Gimme a minute. I' takin' away da Andreia and da Saltz so all I have is da Brave. Brave means being still even when you're scared.'
          Today the IV techs marveled at how still she was while putting in her IV.
And this is what people mean when they say their children teach them far more than they teach their children."
----------------           
            Abigail has always been the happiest child I have ever known.  I always suspected she was brave—children who have physical difficulties often are because of the things they experience from early on.  Now I know exactly how she does it.  She "takes away" the names that might be in the way so she can make use of the name that counts--Brave.
            Can I ask you this morning, what names do you need to take away?  The only name that should count for you is Christian—a child of God, a disciple of Christ.  That name will give you strength when temptations arise.  It will give you peace and contentment when you don't understand.  It will give you courage and steadfastness when trials beset your soul. 
            And why is that?  Because through that name we have life (John 20:31), we have hope (Matt 12:21), we have justification (1 Cor 6:11), we have remission of sins (Acts 10:43) and salvation (Acts 4:12).  We also have absolutely no excuse for failure because the one who wore that name left the example for us to follow, and said it was possible to do so.
            Four year old Abigail knows the power of a name.  Remember the name you wear.  Take away all the others and use that one to be faithful to the end.
 
Let them praise your great and awesome name! Holy is he! (Ps 99:3).
 
Dene Ward

On May 17, 1954 the Supreme Court ruled in the case of Brown vs. Board of Education that “the doctrine of separate but equal has no place in public education.”  Do you know who “Brown” was?  She was Linda Brown, a black third-grader who had to walk a mile to the all-black elementary school, right through a railroad switching yard, instead of a much shorter seven blocks to an all-white school where she was not allowed.
            Although that decision was a giant step in desegregating American schools, it did not change things immediately.  It was over 11 years later when I had my first black classmate, a seventh grader named Diana White.  She was well-spoken, well-dressed, friendly, smart, and pretty, and I liked her instantly.  At that point, nothing about the Supreme Court ruling had affected me personally at all.  I still walked across the street to school every morning.
            The next year we moved from that small town where grades seven through twelve were all housed in a small school labeled “high school” to the biggest city I had ever lived in, a melting pot of cultures and beliefs that made me feel like I had moved to another country altogether.  Schoolyard fights were common and the bathrooms billowed with cigarette and marijuana smoke. 
            I hated those first two years of what they called junior high, more than twice the number of students I had been with the year before in one-third the number of grades—8th and 9th.  I had discovered that the school year consisted of 120 days and that first year I kept a small notebook in my desk in which every afternoon I marked off a day, from day one to day 120, four vertical lines and a crossbar every week.
            That was also my first experience with busing, which was how that city handled the new laws, and it was not a kind experience.  Instead of riding safely with a parent to the school near my house, I was hauled off five miles in the opposite direction. 
            Most of the upholstery on that old bus was dried out and cracked from the Florida heat, some of the foam padding spilling out, or torn out by bored students, the walls and seatbacks scratched with rusting graffiti, the floors scuffed and covered with gum wads and other sticky things I really didn’t want to contemplate.  The windows stuck either up or down, depending upon who sat there last and how strong he was.  I suppose the engine was in reasonable shape.  It certainly spewed out enough fumes, which then wafted back around the bus and in through the windows.  But that acted as a sort of buffer for the odors of adolescent sweat and far too much Brut and Tabu.
            The first morning I stepped on that bus was like something out of a nightmare.  Even though the county had tacked up a list of rules for all to see, rules that included, “No more than two people per seat,” and, “No standing on the bus,” most of the seats were crammed with three people and the unlucky few who had no friends to save them a seat, stood in the middle.  (It was deemed better to break bus safety rules than to break the federal law that required the busing in the first place.)  I was near the end of the pickup route and I knew no one else on board, so I stood.
            What a ride that was.  I always carried several thick textbooks stacked on the slanted top of a loose-leaf notebook—no backpacks back then.  It was either hold onto the books or hold myself up as we swung around corners and bounced over railroad tracks.  Somehow I managed to grab the metal back of a seat with my right hand while using my left arm to hold my notebook and books tightly up against me so they wouldn’t slide into the floor on the nearly thirty minute ride across town, made so much longer by the frequent stops for railroad crossings and the multitude of traffic lights and school zones we passed through. 
            Before a week was out, though, I had made a friend, another quiet girl as much a fish out of water as I.  She got on the bus three stops before me, when there were still seats available, and she started saving one for me.  That one little thing made the days bearable—I had a place, I belonged.  It meant so much that on the mornings she was absent and I discovered it when I climbed aboard that reeking bus, I nearly cried.
            God understands our longing for a place.  He knows we want to belong, we want to matter to someone.  Into a world where the best you could hope for from capricious, petty, spiteful pagan gods was to go unnoticed, the apostles came preaching about a God who actually cared.  Jesus came preaching about a God who knew you so intimately that he could number the hairs on your head, and who willingly provided you the necessities of life.  The disciples spread the word about a God who sacrificed himself to save, who helped bear burdens, and who offered rest and refreshing from a world sometimes too difficult to bear alone.
            God is saving you a seat on the bus.  Sometimes the bus hits a bump in the road, just as it did for Job.  Sometimes the driver takes a detour you never planned on, just as happened with Joseph.  Sometimes the route is long and the day hot and stifling as you sit among people who reek of the stench of this world, just as has happened to so many who have taken the ride before you.  But you are not alone.  The Lord got on that bus before you.  He will always be there saving you a seat, and after you count off that last day of “school,” he will give you a place where you can “belong” forever.
           
I am sending you to open their eyes, so that they may turn from darkness to light and from the power of Satan to God, that they may receive forgiveness of sins and a place among those who are sanctified by faith in me. Acts 26:18
 
Dene Ward

Everyone knows about Babe Ruth, but did you know that in his first year as a Major Leaguer—1914--he didn't hit a single home run?  Granted he only played in five games, but this is Babe Ruth we're talking about.  The second year he hit 4 home runs, including his first in the major leagues as part of the Boston Red Sox.  On May 6, 1915, in the third inning at the Polo Grounds against the New York Yankees, he hit a solid pop that made the entire crowd gasp as it sailed into the second tier of the right field grandstands.  As his career continued, he improved even more, setting the record for most home runs in a season (29 in 1919), and then breaking his own record twice.  Improvement should be expected in a professional and Babe Ruth certainly lived up to it.
            It happens in other areas as well.  We have always had a large garden, mainly to keep the grocery bill affordable.  An 80 by 80 foot plot has been planted in three different places through the years as we came to know our land and which areas of it were best suited for what.
            But the past few years, we have downsized.  Half the original garden, now 40 by 80, is plenty of room for the little the two of us need, and we still have extra to give away on Sunday mornings.  But since the other half was already tilled, it seemed a shame to waste it.  So that first year Keith planted an entire pound of wildflower seeds in it.  If that does not impress you, consider that those seed packets you buy in the store containing 25 seeds are less than a tenth of an ounce.  In fact, most of the weight, should you put them on a scale small enough to weigh ounces, is the paper packet itself.  So a pound of flower seeds is an enormous amount.
            As the spring and summer passed by, nothing came up.  What a disappointment.  Planting those seeds was a lot of work—tilling, sowing, rolling with a fifty gallon barrel, hauling hoses and setting up sprinklers to water it.  Too much work, Keith decided, to try it again. 
            Then one spring morning during the second year, he looked out on that side of the old garden space and saw what he had expected to see the year before.  Bright yellow fleabane in huge clumps, fire engine red, deep pink, and fuchsia phlox, orange gaillardia, yellow and maroon tickseed, and tall stems of black-eyed Susans and cone flowers.  It has been a delight all year long.  We just had to wait for it longer than expected.
            I planted, Apollos watered; but God gave the increase. (1Cor 3:6)
            Planting for the Lord is hard work.  It may be natural to want to see results immediately.  It may be understandable to become discouraged when we do not.  Stop whittling on God's end of the stick.  Our job is to plant.  Period.  God will give the increase in His own good time—maybe the second year, maybe not until the fifth or tenth or even the twentieth. 
            So keep sowing that seed.  You sow it with your words, with your offers to hold a Bible study, with the example you set when life goes awry as it will sooner or later for everyone.  You sow it on purpose and you sow accidentally when you do not realize someone else is watching and listening.  You sow it formally with written invitations and flyers and you sow when you just happen to think to invite out of the clear blue.  One of these days you might see a few results.  But then again, you may never see one.  That does not mean they won't happen in a heart years removed from the time you sowed, long after you are gone.  Even Babe Ruth had to wait a while.
            But when those seeds bloom, they will be some of the most beautiful blooms on the face of the earth—a heart where the gospel has taken root and formed a servant of the Lord.  Sow something today, on purpose, and think about my wildflowers as you do.  God will give that increase--sometime.  We must learn to stop counting and see it by faith.
 
For as the rain comes down and the snow from heaven, and returns not there, but waters the earth, and makes it bring forth and bud, and gives seed to the sower and bread to the eater; so shall my word be that goes forth out of my mouth: it shall not return unto me void, but it shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it. (Isa 55:10-11)
 
Dene Ward

On our last camping trip to Blackwater River State Park we had reserved an especially good site, along with its neighbor for Lucas, three months in advance.  We arrived and after three hours were nearly set up when the ranger arrived to tell us that the next day a controlled burn was scheduled right on our edge of the campground and we would have to move.  It was not a happy event.  Not only would we have to tear down and start again less than an hour before sunset, but none of the other sites were as private. 
            Privacy is not that important when you sleep in a trailer or RV, but in tents with paper-thin walls it makes a difference.  Our new sites were smack dab in the middle of the campground and so small and close together that I could hear Lucas snoring in his tent next site over.  In fact one night, he and Keith were snoring in rhythm, and the night after Lucas started a snore on the inhale and Keith finished it on the exhale, perfectly synchronized.  Yet when the controlled burn passed the campground we were glad we had moved.  Even with the wind blowing in the opposite direction, the ash would have fallen on our equipment and melted holes in it.
            This is one of the things you must be ready to deal with in a State Park.  The point of a state park is conservation.  There will be more rules than a commercial campground, rules that when broken actually make you a lawbreaker.  But state parks have the nicest facilities for the money that you will find, along with well-maintained hiking trails, nature walks, and all sorts of other free amenities.  We do our best to follow those rules because those parks are part of God's Creation, and we want them to last. 
            Florida has one of the best, and most awarded, state park systems in the country.  The idea was proposed during the Twenty-Sixth Regular Session of the State of Florida House of Representatives on May 2, 1935, and we are thrilled that it was later passed.  In our thirty years of camping, we have certainly made good use of the resulting parks.
            And on that particular trip we learned a lot about controlled burns.  There are two reasons for controlled burns.  When the underbrush is allowed to spread unchecked, all that extra fuel makes wildfires more destructive.  Also, in a pine forest, the controlled burns keep the hardwoods from taking over.  The day after the burn every small hardwood was smoking and burned to a crisp while the pines stood tall and strong, if a little charred on the bottom.
            As Christians we must experience times exactly like these controlled burns.  Perhaps the most difficult “burns” to understand are the problems among God’s people.  If the church is the body of Christ, why do people behave badly?  Why do divisions happen and heresies lead people astray?  The Proverb writer tells us that God will use the wicked, whether they want to be used or not, Prov 16:4.  Paul says in 1 Cor 11:19, For there must be factions among you in order that those who are genuine among you may be recognized. 
            The question is not will there be problems in the church?  The question is, when there are problems will we be able to “recognize” those who are not genuine believers?  I fear that too many of us look to the wrong things. 
            Do I believe one side because they are my friends, never even questioning their words, while automatically dismissing the other if among them is a brother I don’t like too much?  Does “family” make the decision for me?  Am I relying on how I “feel” about it, instead of what the Word actually says?  Does it matter more to me who can quote the Big-Name Preachers instead of the scriptures?  Is one side more popular than the other?  Will it give me more power if that side wins the fight?  When I rely on those types of things, I am the one who is showing myself to be a less than genuine believer.
            While these things are necessary, it doesn’t mean God likes them, any more than he liked the Assyrians who fulfilled their purpose in punishing his wayward people. 
            Ho Assyrian, the rod of my anger, the staff in whose hand is my indignation! I will send him against a profane nation, and against the people of my wrath will I give him a charge, to take the spoil, and to take the prey, and to tread them down like the mire of the streets. Howbeit he means not so, neither does his heart think so; but it is in his heart to destroy, and to cut off nations not a few... Wherefore it shall come to pass, that, when the Lord has performed his whole work upon mount Zion and on Jerusalem, I will punish the fruit of the stout heart of the king of Assyria, and the glory of his high looks, Isa 10:5-6,12. 
            Jesus presents a similar viewpoint when he says in Matt 18:7, Woe unto the world because of occasions of stumbling! For it must needs be that the occasions come; but woe to that man through whom the occasion comes!  These things have their place and their purpose, but God will punish the ones responsible. 
            Now the hard part:  The apostles did not tell the early church that it was understandable to become discouraged and leave because their idea of the blissful, perfect institution was often marred by sin.  They said to use that experience to double check where we stand, to make sure we are among the true believers, the tall pines that withstand the blaze instead of the scrub brush and interloping hardwoods who try to destroy Christ’s body.
            Those controlled burns in the pine forests happen every three years.  Who knows how often the church needs cleansing but God himself? For me to give up on the Lord and his body because someone causes trouble, because peace among God’s people sometimes seems hard to come by, means I am giving up on God, failing to trust that he knows best. You may get a little singed, but it is a cleansing burn, far better than the eternal burn that awaits the factious.
 
Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly are ravening wolves. By their fruits you shall know them. Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles? Even so every good tree brings forth good fruit; but the corrupt tree brings forth evil fruit…Therefore by their fruits you shall know them, Matt 7:15-17, 20.
 
Dene Ward
           
 

I can remember my mother bringing the laundry in from the clothesline and filling up a long-necked green bottle with a top that looked a little like the pour spout of the sprinkling can she used on her flowers.  She carefully sprinkled water over the clothes she had already spent several hours washing and drying, turning them over to get both sides, and then stuffed them in a large zippered plastic bag.  Not a Ziploc, but something the size of a kitchen garbage sack with a real clothing zipper on it.  Then she put the bag in the refrigerator.  A few days later, she opened her ironing board, preheated her electric iron and spent several more hours ironing those clothes.  Every week.  Me?  I spend a couple hours every 2 months and that only because my boys and my husband love cotton shirts.  Lucky for me they only had a few of them, and now I am down to just a husband.
            I looked up the invention of permanent press fabric and must have found half a dozen dates.  Chemical companies, fabric companies, and clothing manufacturers all seem to claim a share of the glory all the way back to the 1930s.  Then in 1956 there was a patent that simply claims to be the invention of permanent press.  The problem was the way it was produced.  The resin on the cloth made the cloth stiff, uncomfortable to wear, and easily split when it was sewn.  Koret of California finally received a patent on March 14, 1961, for an improved method of manufacturing press-free crease-retained garments made with smooth, comfortable fabric that held up.  I barely remember the first time my mother bought my father a permanent press dress shirt so that date is just about right.  And all that brought something to mind.
            Maybe this is one of those urban legends that everyone has heard from someone.  I am really not certain, but Keith’s mother once told us about a young woman who began attending services with them back in the 1950s with her three young children, the oldest about 6.  She arrived just on time and left quickly.  But unlike many of those types, she was always there, her children knew the basic Bible stories, and she herself was attentive to both class and sermon.  In fact her keeping to herself seemed to be more a product of embarrassment than anything else.
            My mother-in-law, astute observer that she was, had noticed something.  The children were always neat, clean, and combed except for one thing—their clothes were always wrinkled.  This was back before the day of permanent press and polyester.  There is nothing quite as wrinkled as old-fashioned cotton—except maybe wrinkled linen—which was way beyond this woman’s means.
            I forget now how she managed to ask.  Maybe it was the offer of an iron, which I know she was generous enough to do.  Knowing my mother-in-law though, she probably just came out and asked.  However she did it, she got an answer.
            The woman’s husband was not a Christian.  He not only refused to attend services with her, he refused to get up and help her get the children ready.  So every week after their Saturday evening bath, she dressed them for church and then put them to bed.  The next morning it was easier to get the three tykes up and fed and herself dressed for church.
            After all these years, I’ve heard nearly every excuse in the world for missing Bible classes or the morning services altogether.  This young woman could have easily pulled two or three off the list and used them.  So why didn’t she?  I can think of three good reasons.
            First, she loved the Lord.  Nothing and no one was going to come between her and her Savior.  She knew the perils of allowing excuses to keep her away from the spiritual nutrition her soul needed, and she was not so arrogant as to think she could feed herself with no help at all.  “I can have a relationship with God without the church,” I have heard more times than I can count.  She knew better.
            And because she had her first priority correct, the others fell right in line.  She loved her children, but more than that she loved her children’s souls.  She had to combat not only the usual onslaught of the world, but the huge impact of a father’s bad example.  She was still in her early 20s so she had probably married quite young, too young to really understand the challenges of this “mixed” marriage, maybe even so naïve that she thought “love would conquer all” and he would change easily.  Now she knew better, but she was more than ever determined to save her children.
            And despite it all, she loved her husband and his soul too.  She knew that any little chink in her armor would allow him the rationale he needed to remain apathetic to her faith.  She understood Peter’s command in 1 Pet 3:1,2,  Likewise, wives, be subject to your own husbands, so that even if some do not obey the word, they may be won without a word by the conduct of their wives, when they see your respectful and pure conduct.  The more he resisted, the stronger she needed to be, and if taking her children to church in wrinkled clothes did the trick, then that’s what she would do.
            This young woman shows us all that excuses can be overcome by pure will.  Certainly we are not talking about the truly old, ill, and otherwise unable to go out either regularly or on occasion when there is truly a “bad day.”  We are talking about people who allow a little, or even a lot of trouble to become too much trouble to serve God.  I know many who work around the hurdles and snags that Satan throws in our paths.  It costs them time, money, and a whole lot of extra energy, but they have their priorities straight.  They know who comes first, and they understand that our modern “sacrifices” are an insult to the word. 
         If finding excuses comes easily for me, maybe I need to consider throwing out my permanent press and wearing some wrinkled clothes.
 
And when one of them that sat at meat with him heard these things, he said unto him, Blessed is he that shall eat bread in the kingdom of God. But he said unto him, A certain man made a great supper; and he bade many: and he sent forth his servant at supper time to say to them that were bidden, Come; for all things are now ready. And they all with one consent began to make excuse…And the servant came, and told his lord these things. Then the master of the house being angry said to his servant, Go out quickly into the streets and lanes of the city, and bring in hither the poor and maimed and blind and lame.  And the servant said, Lord, what thou didst command is done, and yet there is room.  And the lord said unto the servant, Go out into the highways and hedges, and constrain them to come in, that my house may be filled.  For I say unto you, that none of those men that were bidden shall taste of my supper.  Luke 14:15-24.
 
Dene Ward