I saw him first in the early spring, the days still cool and breezy, the sun only barely warming the greening grass.  I am not sure exactly how he reached the feeder next to my window, but later I saw him hopping down one limb at a time to the ground.  His right wing was broken, dragging on whatever surface he stood; he was unable to lift it at all.  Yet by hopping upward one limb at a time, I surmised, he had managed to get to a plentiful food supply and ate as much as he needed.

              All spring he came, usually after the other birds had eaten their fill and left.  I made sure he had plenty and he seemed to appreciate it, eying me from the safety beyond the window where I sat as he pecked the seed.  Finally his wing began to mend.  After a couple of weeks he was able to pull it up a bit.  Gradually he pulled it closer and closer to his body, and suddenly one afternoon he gave it a try and flew to the feeders out in the yard, the ones on straight poles that he couldn’t reach before.  His flight was wobbly, swooping down toward the grass in a dive I thought would crash-land, but then he managed to flap a bit and rise to land on the red plastic perch.

              His wing and his maneuvers have both improved.  I can still tell which one he is, though, because that wing healed crookedly and still bows out from his body as if he has his hand in his pocket, elbow stuck out, but his flying is straight and sure now.  He survived what might have brought death to any other bird probably because of the free and easy meal he could still manage to reach while he healed.

              Isn’t that why God put us here together?  When one of us has a broken wing, the rest of us do what we can to help.  It may be physical—taking meals to the ill or injured or those recovering from surgeries.  But far more often it is a spiritual break, a soul in jeopardy from the pitfalls of life that have left him maimed and unable to care for himself.

              And we urge you, brothers, admonish the idle, encourage the fainthearted, help the weak, be patient with them all. 1 Thessalonians 5:14

              We who are strong have an obligation to bear with the failings of the weak, and not to please ourselves. Romans 15:1

              Bear one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ. Galatians 6:2.

              In this way we follow the example of our Lord:  a bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not quench…Matt 12:20.  Just as he healed so many broken souls, he expects us to do the same.

              Sometimes it is difficult to deal with these broken souls.  It takes time, it takes effort, sometimes it even takes heartache and tears. It means we might miss a planned outing, a meal, or maybe some sleep.  Taking care of those in pain can take up your life—but then, isn’t service supposed to be our life when we give it all to the Suffering Servant?  Service by definition is never convenient. 

              Look around for those broken wings.  God expects you to be His agent in taking care of His ailing children.  Feed them, care for them, listen, advise, and if necessary, correct.  Above all, be patient—healing takes time.  If you aren’t willing to do that, then maybe the broken wing is yours.
 
Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees. Say to those who have an anxious heart, "Be strong; fear not! Behold, your God will come with vengeance, with the recompense of God. He will come and save you." Isaiah 35:3-4
 
Dene Ward

I looked in the pantry the other day for a box of pasta.  Know what I found?  Spaghetti, penne rigate, orzo, linguini, lasagna, shells, and elbow macaroni.  I stood there at least five minutes trying to figure out which one I wanted to use.  Then I needed vinegar.  There was apple cider vinegar, white vinegar, balsamic vinegar, rice vinegar, white wine vinegar, red wine vinegar, and homemade rosemary vinegar.  That took even longer. 

             I remember the old days when I had spaghetti and macaroni, apple cider vinegar and all purpose white.  I didn’t have enough money in the grocery budget to play around with anything else.  We still aren’t rich, but we are certainly better off than thirty years ago, and being better off has cost me a lot of time lately, trying to figure out what I want to use instead of just grabbing the only thing available and throwing it in the pot.

              That made me wonder what this economy and this culture is costing the Lord’s body.  Things may be changing, but we can still worship without fear.  So what do we do?  Since we don’t face actual physical persecution, we find silly things to fight about among ourselves.  Since we have plenty in the coffers due to our more affluent membership, we argue about what to do with it, and often wind up “burying our money” in bank accounts. 

              In the very old days, the brethren were too busy fighting pagan culture and hostile government to fight among themselves.  In the more recent old days, money was hard to come by for everyone so when they got a little they were quick to share it.  I’ve seen that in secular organizations.  I was involved with a local music teacher’s group that regularly emptied its bank account giving to needy students for lessons and school music programs for supplies.  Then we put together a community cookbook, made $1000 in one month and had to practically pry anything past several members who, once they had gotten a taste of financial security, didn’t want to give it up.

              We often say, “Be careful what you wish for.”  When we can read in the scriptures of churches so poor they didn’t have enough themselves but still begged to be a part of the giving, I think I understand why wealth is such a dangerous thing.  When things are so easy for us that we look for petty things to fight about, Satan is using that wealth, that security, that life of ease to tear us apart and make us ineffective at the mission God has set before us. 

              Maybe that’s why persecution is looked at favorably in so many passages.  Maybe that’s why wealth in the New Testament is never pictured as anything but dangerous. 

              I just looked in my pantry again.  I have all-purpose flour, cake flour, bread flour, and whole wheat flour.  Despite my protestations, I am too wealthy. 

              It’s time to go fix dinner.  I don’t know whether to use the basmati rice, the brown rice, or the Arborio rice.  Do you know what to do with the blessings you have?
 
We want you to know, brothers, about the grace of God that has been given among the churches of Macedonia, for in a severe test of affliction, their abundance of joy and their extreme poverty have overflowed in a wealth of generosity on their part. For they gave according to their means, as I can testify, and beyond their means, of their own accord, begging us earnestly for the favor of taking part in the relief of the saints-- and this, not as we expected, but they gave themselves first to the Lord and then by the will of God to us. 2 Corinthians 8:1-5
 
Dene Ward

I’ve seen it all my life, everywhere I’ve ever been—a brand of false teaching that even the best of us participate in, that even the best of us fall prey to.

              Over and over we teach people to follow the examples of Herod and Herodias, of Ahab and Jezebel, of practically every evil king ever mentioned in the Bible.  We teach that example and we follow it ourselves.  The examples of Simon and David are left ignored, at least in that one area.  What am I talking about?  How to accept correction, how to appreciate the one who loves us enough to rebuke us or try to teach us better. 

              What did Simon the sorcerer say when Peter rebuked him? “Pray for me that none of the things that you have spoken may come upon me.”  Simon was only interested in being right before God, not in saving face or somehow turning the rebuke back on Peter because he was so angry or hurt by it.

              What did David say when Nathan stung him with the simple words “Thou art the man,” and followed it with a horrifying list of punishments, including the death of a child?  “I have sinned against the Lord.” And what did he do later?  He named a son after Nathan (1 Chron 3:5).  Every time he saw that child for the rest of his life, he was reminded of his namesake, the man who rebuked him and prophesied such devastating punishment.  All you have to do is read his penitent psalms to understand David’s attitude.  He was grateful to Nathan, not angry; heartbroken over his sin and joyful that God would even consider forgiving him.

              Simon and David set the bar high for us, a brand new Gentile convert and a king who could have lopped off his accuser’s head at a word. Yet how often are we counseled to follow their examples?  Instead, we are coddled by people who blame the rebuker for being so hard.  Never have I heard anyone say the kinds of things that Peter and Nathan said.  “Your money perish with you.”  “You are in the gall of bitterness and the bond of iniquity.”  “Your heart is not right before God.”  “You have despised the word of God.” 

              What examples do we teach instead?  We may not throw people into prison for their words as Ahab and Herod did, but we isolate them from others by spreading tales of “how mean they were to me,” allowing their name and reputation to be chewed up in the rumor mills.  We may not have them murdered as Herodias and Jezebel did, but we do a fine job of character assassination.  We follow faithfully in their evil steps and teach others to do the same when we pat them on the back and agree with their assessment of the one who dared tell them they were wrong.  In other words, we do it out of “love.”  I imagine Herod said the same as he turned the prison key on John, and then signed off on the death warrant.

              Why is this example of how to accept correction so neglected?  Why do we reinforce the examples of evil people instead?  Is it because someday it might be us receiving that rebuke?  Someday it might be our turn to feel the hot embarrassment spreading like a fire across our faces and the acid churning in our stomachs? 

              God meant us to love each other in exactly this way.  Brethren, if anyone is caught in any transgression, you who are spiritual restore such a one in a spirit of gentleness, looking to yourself lest you also be tempted, Gal 6:1.  We all take turns at this.  We all need it.  And I have an important piece of information for you, one that should be obvious but apparently is not:  it never feels “gentle” when you are on the receiving end.  I have knocked myself out prefacing correction with “I love you” statements, with praise for the good in a person’s life, only to have to endure a cold shoulder for weeks or months or even years, only to hear later from others how “mean” I was.  I have also felt that sting of conscience when it was my turn to listen, and even when I knew the person speaking loved me.  But the good God meant to come from these things will be completely lost if all we do is tell the erring brother or sister that it’s just fine to be like Herod and Herodias.

              So you think this isn’t false doctrine?  Then tell me what it is to teach others to be like evil men and women.  Whatever you come up with, it still isn’t right.
 
My brothers, if anyone among you wanders from the truth and someone brings him back, let him know that whoever brings back a sinner from his wandering will save his soul from death and will cover a multitude of sins. James 5:19-20.
 
Dene Ward      

As promised, your first "Thirty Second Devo.  The trick is to think about what it means:

The biggest hindrance to learning is what you think you already know. 

Give instruction to a wise man, and he will be still wiser; teach a righteous man, and he will increase in learning. (Prov 9:9)

Dene Ward

When you are born with a disability, especially a rare one that no one has heard of like I was, or when you develop one in your twenties that is practically invisible like Keith has, you have learned to handle all sorts of inappropriate and insensitive remarks with grace and equanimity.  You begin to feel like you should quack once in a while—as it all rolls off your back.

              But there is one remark that always rankles, me more than Keith, although it is always directed at him:  "You can hear what you want to hear."

              Sometimes it's supposed to be a joke—a poor one; sometimes it's one of those "manly" gibes; but every time it shows ignorance on the part of the one who says it.  The temptation is strong to wish the malady on them for just one week and see if their tune doesn't change.  I have to beat that unkind thought off with a stick far too often.  Not Keith—he doesn't hear it!

              He started going deaf while he was in the service.  No one knows why; it does not run in the family.  He was prescribed his first pair of hearing aids six months into our marriage at the age of 27, and he has gone downhill steadily.  He is not just "hard of hearing;" he is now labelled by the specialists as "profoundly deaf."

              If he can't see your mouth, he can't "hear" you.  He lip-reads most of the time.  When the church decides to reserve the front center seats for a certain group that does not include the visually or aurally impaired, they are effectively removing him, and those like him, from the worship.

              At home he cannot hear me calling from another room.  Even if we are working side by side, we cannot talk as we work because he is keeping his attention on what he is doing.  Especially if we are doing something like peeling and chopping tomatoes for canning, he cannot even take a half second to look at my lips without endangering himself.  And I don't know about you, but I would find it hard to say much in half a second.

              At night when the lights go out, all communication ceases.  No pillow talk for us.  We have even had to work out a signal just in case I hear a prowler in the night, something I can do involving touch that tells him there is danger, but that he needs to keep quiet.

              When I have to be away from home overnight, he doesn't sleep well at all.  You cannot go to bed with your hearing aids on any more than you can with your glasses.  Without them, he cannot hear the smoke alarm, even though it is right outside our bedroom door.  A bad guy could hack the door down with an axe and be on him before he knew it.  Doesn't make for easy sleeping.

              When he works outside, he cannot wear his hearing aids.  They will short out from the moisture of perspiration.  Anyone who works with him has to learn how to communicate, and let me tell you, it can be exasperating.

              Yet, I can understand why people do not quite get it.  First, it's not always about volume.  A man and a woman could say something at precisely the same volume and assuming he can see them, he might hear the man but not the woman.  She speaks in a higher frequency.  Children are even worse, especially the younger ones whose speech is not yet clear. 

              Accents are a problem.  People from another country often speak in a different cadence, so besides pronunciation issues, the small things he has grown to count on that you never even notice are just "off."  So, yes, to the ignorant, it might seem like he can "hear" when he wants to.

              Even lip-reading is not the ultimate solution.  Many words "look" the same.  What "reads" like one word can easily be another.  He counts on knowing the subject in order to figure out the words.  Names and numbers have absolutely no context.  More often than not he gets them wrong, no matter who is saying them or how loudly.

              "Hearing" is a real chore for him.  What he hears is a fill-in-the-blank test.  He is constantly working to read lips, remember the context, and consider several possible words in a split second—every second.  Trying to keep up in a conversation with more than two others is next to impossible.  Sitting down to a relaxing conversation is a pipe-dream.

              "You can hear what you want to hear?"  Believe me, there are many things he would love to hear but can't.

              Like the voices of his children when they were little and wanted to tell Daddy something.  And now his grandchildren.  Gradually, they just gave up trying.

              Like the phone ringing when I got stuck in Birmingham in the middle of the night a long time ago.  It's a wonder I ever made it home.

              Like the several times I've needed urgent help outside in the yard, or even from another room in our one story, thirteen hundred square foot house and he could not come running. 

             Like being able to hear himself and others well enough to stay in key during the singing at church.  Here is a man who once played violin, one of the most aurally demanding instruments there is.  When we were dating, we talked about someday me playing the orchestral accompaniment to his violin concerto.  Never happened—he was already too deaf when we married.

               But he still loved to sing.  One time some middle schoolers sat in front of us at a church that will remain unnamed.  We noticed they were passing notes, but thought nothing of it until the service was over and they had left some trash in the pew.  He reached down to pick it up and throw it away.  There in his hand lay the note they had passed:  "Do you hear that guy behind us.  He sure sounds weird.  Who told him he could sing?"  God did actually, and he does, no matter what anyone else thinks, but he does wish he could hear well enough to still do it well.

              Yet that little comment, "You can hear what you want to hear," does have a valid application, even for normal hearing people.

              “Hear this, O foolish and senseless people, who have eyes, but see not, who have ears, but hear not. ​Do you not fear me? declares the LORD. Do you not tremble before me? I placed the sand as the boundary for the sea, a perpetual barrier that it cannot pass; though the waves toss, they cannot prevail; though they roar, they cannot pass over it. ​But this people has a stubborn and rebellious heart; they have turned aside and gone away. They do not say in their hearts, ‘Let us fear the LORD our God, who gives the rain in its season, the autumn rain and the spring rain, and keeps for us the weeks appointed for the harvest.’ (Jer 5:21-24)

              This is why I speak to them in parables, because seeing they do not see, and hearing they do not hear, nor do they understand. (Matt 13:13)

              If we don't want to hear the truth, we won't.  We can even hear the words and come up with a completely different meaning, thus, Jesus' warning:  Take heed how you hear, (Luke 8:18.

              So if you suddenly feel a need to say, "You can hear what you want to hear," to someone who is hearing disabled, stop--remember to apply it to yourself first.
 
And unto them is fulfilled the prophecy of Isaiah, which says, By hearing ye shall hear, and shall in no wise understand; And seeing ye shall see, and shall in no wise perceive: For this people's heart is waxed gross, And their ears are dull of hearing, And their eyes they have closed; Lest haply they should perceive with their eyes, And hear with their ears, And understand with their heart, And should turn again, And I should heal them. But blessed are your eyes, for they see; and your ears, for they hear. (Matt 13:14-16)
 
Dene Ward

Nothing annoys me much more than a chirping smoke alarm.  Yes, yes, yes, I tell it.  I know you need a new battery.  I will get to it as soon as I can.  But aren't we glad we have them?
 
             It has taken a long time for affordable, reliable, home smoke detectors to hit the market.  The first fire alarm was invented and patented by Francis Robbins Upton, a friend of Thomas Edison, in 1890.  George Andrew Darby of Birmingham, England invented the first smoke detector in 1902.  Both items were too basic to be reliable and marketable.  In the late 1930s a Swiss physicist named Walter Jaeger attempted to invent a poison gas detector.  It didn't detect the poison, but the smoke from his cigarette did set it off.  This one was too expensive to produce to have much impact on the market.

              I was finally able to find a patent given to inventors Randolph J. Smith of Anaheim, California and Kenneth R House of Norwalk, Connecticut on August 5, 1969.  Their model was evidently the first battery-powered residential model that was actually affordable and reliable.  It emitted a piercing alarm at the presence of smoke.  And yes, I suppose it did that annoying little chirping thing, too.

              Maybe it’s because I am the only one around here who even needs the smoke alarm.  Keith not only can’t hear the chirping, he can stand under the thing when it goes off and not hear it.  As long as I am in the house I can wake Keith up and get both of us out in time should a fire start.  If only the toaster and the broiler and the occasional spillover on the burners didn't set it off too.

              Warnings are often annoying.  How about the various beeps in your car?  For us, it’s just the ding-ding-ding when you leave the keys in, but I have friends whose cars ring, buzz, beep, or whoop-whoop-whoop when they back up too close to something, pull in too close to something, swerve a little too close to the lane markings, let their gas tanks get too low, open the wrong door at the wrong time…  Honestly, I don’t know how they stand to drive at all.

              But only a fool ignores warnings.  And there are quite a few of them out there—fools, that is.  Just try warning someone about losing their soul, and you may well lose a friend.  They get mad, they strike out with accusations about your own failings, they tell everyone how mean you are.  Trouble is, ignoring the warnings won’t get them anywhere they want to go. The danger is still there.

              If I don’t answer the call of the chirping smoke alarm with a new battery, I may very well burn to death one night.  Telling everyone how annoying the thing is won’t change that at all.  If I don’t answer the warnings of someone who cares enough about me to brave losing his reputation and being hurt, my end won’t change either.  It doesn’t matter whether I thought he was mean or whether he needed a warning just as badly as I did.  I know the first reaction is anger.  I’ve been there myself.  But anger never saved anyone, nor accusations, nor whining and fussing about my hurt feelings.  There is a whole lot more at stake than a few feelings.
 
             Heed the warning when you get it, no matter how you get it or from whom.  It may be the only one you get.  People aren’t like smoke alarms.  Not many of them will put up with your bad reactions.  They’ll either stop chirping now, or never chirp again.  Then what will you do when the fire starts?
 
"Son of man, speak to your people and say to them, If I bring the sword upon a land, and the people of the land take a man from among them, and make him their watchman, and if he sees the sword coming upon the land and blows the trumpet and warns the people, then if anyone who hears the sound of the trumpet does not take warning, and the sword comes and takes him away, his blood shall be upon his own head. He heard the sound of the trumpet and did not take warning; his blood shall be upon himself. But if he had taken warning, he would have saved his life, Ezekiel 33:2-5.
 
Dene Ward

I suppose it’s because of our age.  Or maybe it’s because we have lost three of our four parents.  We are the ones at the top of the escalator.  No one stands between us and eternity.  My mother is still alive but she is into her nineties, so it still feels like we are the older couple now, and it is indeed sobering.  All things being equal, we will be next to step off on the upper floor.

              Maybe that’s why we have spent a lot of time lately looking through old photographs.  What did we find?  Dogs and cats from puppy- and kitten-hood to grizzled muzzles and bent old bodies, baseball teams, science projects, birthday parties, and Christmas presents; old friends and their young children, who are now grown up like ours; school pictures of the boys, all the way to college graduation; even a few pictures of a couple of kids in 70s polyester, freshly married, with lots of hair and far skinnier than I thought possible.  Occasionally we looked at a picture of a toddler and said, “Are you sure that isn’t Silas?  Or Judah?”  Those always made us smile.

              We also found pictures of this place of ours from back when we first arrived.  A before and after picture probably wouldn’t do the monumental amount of work we have done justice.  We have turned an old watermelon field into a homestead.  Sometimes I wonder what will happen thirty or forty years from now.  Will someone else enjoy my jasmine vines and eat my muscadines?  Will they exclaim over the profusion of volunteer black-eyed Susans and the heat-hearty crepe myrtles?  Will they build a better house up under the oak grove in the middle of the property, just west of the firepit?  I used to dream of the time we could do that ourselves, but it will obviously never happen.

              One thing that surprised us the most were the live oaks.  When you see something every day you don’t notice how much it grows.  I have always thought of those trees as huge, but now they are twice the size around that they were 33 years ago, and many feet taller.  If I hadn’t looked at those pictures, I might never have noticed.

              Sometimes we do that to our brethren.  We tar them with a brush based upon their behavior decades before and never give them any credit for improving.  Can there be anything more discouraging to a brother in Christ? 

              Think today of your various brethren and how you would describe them to someone else.  What exactly are you basing that description on?  Something that happened yesterday, or something that happened twenty years ago?  Are you giving them any credit for growth?  “Judge righteous judgment,” Jesus reminded his disciples in John 7:24.  This poor judgment isn’t just a careless mistake of no consequence; it’s a matter of righteousness. 

              Maybe today would be a good time to reassess our opinions of our brethren.  Throw out the old photographs and take a new one.  Maybe—just maybe—they will do the same for us.
 
He who justifies the wicked and he who condemns the righteous:  both of them alike are an abomination to Jehovah, Prov 17:15.
 
Dene Ward

In 1950, Tulsa police officer Clinton Riggs produced the first Yield sign.  It was yellow and keystone-shaped—I actually think I remember some of those in the deep dark recesses of my mind.  That first one was placed at the corner of 1st Street and Columbia Avenue, one of the most dangerous intersections in Tulsa at the time.  The Yield sign worked like this:  Drivers were expected to slow to 10 mph and look for other vehicles before proceeding through the intersection.  If an accident occurred after the driver went through the intersection, it was automatically assumed that he had violated the law.

              Officer Riggs was born July 15, 1910.  After serving with the Tulsa Police Department for three years he then joined the Highway Patrol in 1937.  During World War II he served as an intelligence officer for the Army Air Corps, and then returned to the police department afterwards.  Somewhere along the way he got his law degree from the University of Tulsa.  He retired from the department in 1970 and passed away in 1997.  Quite a life, but he is remembered by us all as the father of the yield sign.

              The Bible has its own yield sign and it works pretty much the same way.  We are to "subject ourselves one to another" Eph 5:21.  We are to give up our rights, even take wrong (1 Cor 6:7), for the sake of our brother (Rom 14; 1 Cor 8).  We are to count others as "better than ourselves" Phil 2:3.  And why?  Because that is what the Lord we claim to follow did.  "Have this mind in you which was also in Christ Jesus."  He yielded his rights as Deity when he became human and he did it for us.

              Some of the men's business meetings I have heard about need to post a yield sign on the wall.  The conduct in them grieves the Holy Spirit and disgusts the Father who watches his children's actions.  But that's not the only place we need a sign.  Anywhere we push our opinions, demand our rights, and look down our noses on any who disagree with us are dangerous intersections where a collision could easily result in a spiritual death. 

              Anyone who has a collision with another soul after going through an intersection where a yield sign is posted, is automatically deemed guilty of breaking the law.  God's law:  Yield right of way.
 
And so by your knowledge this weak person is destroyed, the brother for whom Christ died. Thus, sinning against your brothers and wounding their conscience when it is weak, you sin against Christ. (1Cor 8:11-12)
 
Dene Ward

I have a feeling that some of Bella and Chloe’s playtime might have been a little unsettling to Bella’s youngest master.  Young wild animals learn survival skills through play—how to hunt and how to fight.  Even domesticated animals learn some of these things.  Puppies always engage in rough and tumble play, including baby nips and growls.  Chloe and Bella did the same, and being larger and older, it looked much fiercer.
 
             Teeth bared, growls ferocious, their muzzles tilted back and forth as if trying to find the best place to lock onto one another.  Larger Bella ran at Chloe and broadsided her, sending her rolling, then pounced on top.  In seconds, more experienced Chloe had her legs wrapped around Bella and flipped her over, like a wrestler reversing a pin.  Sometimes they ran headlong into one another like charging bulls and as they met, the saliva flew in all directions.  I learned to stand way back.

              How did I know this wasn’t real, that it was simply an older dog teaching a younger through play?  Because they never drew blood.  If you watched their mouths, neither ever closed tightly on the other dog’s body anywhere.  And when they finished, they stood panting for a few moments, energy spent, both tongues dangling toward the ground, looking at one another.  Often they would touch noses, then walk shoulder to shoulder back to the shade, Chloe under the truck and Bella under a tree—lesson for the day over.

              I remember a time when brethren could discuss things, even differing views on a passage, and each come away having learned something.  They could trust one another, not only to have each other’s best interest at heart, but also to listen and consider fairly, and never to become angry.  Even if voices rose, no blood was drawn, spiritually speaking, respect continued, and both left with more knowledge and insight.

              What has happened to us?  If someone disagrees with me, it makes me mad or it hurts my feelings, and either way I don’t like him any more.  It is no longer about learning and growing—it about winning arguments and putting people down.  Instead of being able to trust a person because he is a brother, one must try to find a brother he can trust, and it isn’t easy.  That’s not just a shame, it’s a tragedy.  If a man say, I love God, and hates his brother, he is a liar: for he that loves not his brother whom he has seen, cannot love God whom he has not seen. And this commandment have we from him, that he who loves God love his brother also. 1 John 4:20-21

              God meant us to learn and grow together, honing our skills and building one another up.  It might make us occasional sparring partners, but in that sparring we learn how to handle the word more accurately, we learn how to defeat the gainsayers who deny the Lord, and the false teachers who might be after our souls.  And after that sparring match, we “touch gloves” and leave with our love and respect intact.

              At least that’s the way it’s supposed to be.
 
Iron sharpens iron, and one man sharpens another. Proverbs 27:17
 
Dene Ward

We had a second stint of puppysitting recently and this time Chloe adapted more quickly.  By the end of the first day, she and now six month old Bella were romping together in the field.  Chloe was still the boss and called the shots—including the play schedule—but play they did, especially in the evenings when Chloe would crawl out from under the porch, stretch, look over her shoulder at Bella and scamper off with a toss of the head—an open invitation to “catch me if you can.”

              Bella also came with us when I gave Chloe her morning walk around the property.  Chloe usually accompanies me in a steady trot, stopping here and there to sniff at an armadillo hole or a depression at the bottom of the fence where a possum makes its nightly excursions.  Bella preferred to run everywhere, usually in the meandering lines of Billy, the little boy in the Family Circus comic.  Then when she suddenly looked up and found herself behind, she would come bulling her way past us in a brown blur.

              It was one of those times that particular morning and I heard her overtaking us like a buffalo stampede.  The path at that point was narrow, just room for me, my two walking sticks, and Chloe.  As Bella drew near, I just happened to be looking down when she very neatly leapfrogged over Chloe without disturbing a fur on her head.  In a few seconds she was around the bend and out of sight.

              I wonder how many we leapfrog over every day and leave in the dust behind us because we’re too impatient to wait, too unconcerned to care, too impulsive to even notice?  Sometimes the young with their new ideas, scriptural though they may be, have too little respect for the old warriors who need time to consider and be sure.  Sometimes the more knowledgeable become too arrogant to slow their pace for the babes or those whose capacity may not be as deep.  Sometimes the strong forget that God expects them to help the weak, the ill, the faltering.  All these people are just obstacles in our way, things to get past in our rush.

              When you leapfrog over a brother and leave him behind, how do you know he will make it?  God didn’t expect us to walk the path alone.  He meant for us to walk it together.  When you lack the love to walk it with your brother, you may as well not walk it at all.
 
Now we that are strong ought to bear the infirmities of the weak, and not to please ourselves. Let each one of us please his neighbor for that which is good, unto edifying. For Christ also pleased not himself; but, as it is written, The reproaches of them that reproached thee fell upon m. Romans 15:1-3.
 
Dene Ward