Now that it has become more dangerous, I don’t walk with the dogs for exercise any longer.  I trip over too many invisible roots, step in too many hidden holes, roll along on too many sneaky little pine cones, and therefore either fall or come close too many times a week.  Then there are the snakes with their natural camouflage.  I wouldn’t see one before it struck.

            So Keith has bought me an elliptical machine.  Actually this gadget is pretty neat.  It tells me how many miles I have gone and how many calories I have burned, which is a little disappointing.  Oh, for a workout that burns 500 calories in 20 minutes without making you feel like you might die any second!

            But it’s not the same as walking outside.  I miss the fresh air, the waves of wildflower colors in the field, the butterflies flitting across my path, the scent of jasmine wafting along in the breeze.  I miss my little furry companions romping on ahead of this tortoise of a human.  I will say this for the machine, though—it is a lot closer to the five mile jog I did some twenty-five years ago than the three mile stroll I have taken with the dogs in the past few years.  Whew!

            The apostle John called life a walk with God.  If we walk in the light as he is in the light, we have fellowship one with another, 1 John 1:7.  Enoch and Noah both walked with God in a faithful life, Gen 5:22; 6:9.  Paul tells us The Lord is at hand, Phil 4:5.  It does help us get through our trials to know he is with us constantly as we go. 

            Sometimes though we act like this walk is what matters the most.  It isn’t.  This life is the elliptical machine, not the real walk. 

            Similarly, we often make our lives the destination instead of the walk.  We forget that life is just a motel room as we make the trek.  Maybe some of us have circumstances in life that make our temporary inn an upscale model, but it is still just that—temporary.  You don’t put down roots in a Motel 6.  You don’t even put down roots in a Hilton.  You certainly don’t file a change of address with the post office.  And so our roots are not on this earth.

            God wants this life to be good, but we need to remember that no matter how well life here may be going, it is still not the one that matters.  There is another walk coming, a walk that is not a journey at all, but a permanent home in a paradise where God will once again visit his people just like He used to every evening in that original home he made.  We make this walk every day, so we can take that one forever.

Yet you still have a few names in Sardis, people who have not soiled their garments, and they will walk with me in white for they are worthy.  The one who conquers will be clothed thus in white garments, and I will never blot his name out of the Book of Life.  I will confess his name before my Father and before his angels, Rev 3:3,4.

Dene Ward

(For hints, help, and instructions on using this blog, click on the FAQ/Tutorial page on the left sidebar)

After one of my several eye surgeries I was actually examined by two veterinarians.  Remember, I am one of the prime teaching tools at the University of Florida Medical School.  These young Dr Doolittles were doing research in pain.  Their patients cannot tell them how they feel, so they were visiting human post-op cases to ask how they felt after various types of surgery.  It was the only way to know how the animals were feeling.

            My doctor took them to three different patients, an easy case, a moderate case, and then me—the extreme.  I answered their questions with accompanying explanations by my physician, shook their hands, and on they went.  Maybe some child’s pet bunny rabbit will have an easier time of it because of a ten minute delay in my own case—and putting up with a few jokes afterward.

            Isn’t that what Jesus did for us?  Well, no, not exactly.  Instead of asking a few questions, he went through the surgery himself.  How else was Deity to understand temptation, fear, pain, anguish, sorrow, desperation, or even relatively petty things like hunger, thirst, and weariness?  He did it when he counted not being on an equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, Phil 2:6.  He did it by being tempted in all points like we are, Heb 4:15.  It was really the only way.

            And now He knows.  Now He can tell His Father in words Deity can understand what it is like to be human.   Then He can turn around and tell us how to overcome, how to persevere, how to be faithful even to the point of death, Rev 2:10 because he understands our problems too.

            Don’t make His sacrifice be for nothing.

In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.  This same was in the beginning with God.  All things were made through him, and without him was not anything made that was made.  And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld his glory, glory as of the only begotten from the Father, full of grace and truth, John 1:1-3, 14.

Dene Ward

(For hints, help, and instructions on using this blog, click on the FAQ/Tutorial page on the left sidebar)

(For hints, help, and instructions on using this blog, click on the FAQ/Tutorial page on the left sidebar)

            Shortly after this latest surgery, when I had grown weary of sitting in a dark house alone day after day, I donned a couple of pairs of sunglasses, one on top of the other, and a hat with a broad visor, picked up my walking sticks, and stepped outside.  It was still morning so as long as I faced west, the light was tolerable.

            The dogs heard me coming and met me at the door, bumping each other out of the way vying for the first pat, tails wagging so hard and fast they might have been declared lethal weapons.  When they saw my intent to head out into the open, they took off in that direction, Magdi stiffly romping, an old dog briefly reminded of her youth, and Chloe ripping circles around her, leaving skid marks in the grass.

            Right after an eye surgery, the operated-on eye sees nothing but a blur of color for a few weeks.  Although the two eyes are separate entities, each with its own plumbing and wiring systems, the other eye experiences some “sympathy pains” and its vision is not as clear as usual either.  While I could miss the furniture, so to speak, details were difficult.  As far as I could tell there were no individual blooms on the crape myrtles—each was simply one big blotch of color.  There were no leaves on the trees—they were just big puffs of green, exactly the way a child would draw them.  There were no individual blades of grass—the ground was just painted green, except way out in the field where someone had spilled a bucket of yellow paint.

            I headed for that spot, my two bodyguard/playmates scampering around ahead and behind, sniffing up grasshoppers the size of mascara tubes.  Our ten paws were soon soaked with dew and breaded with sand. When I got close enough to see my beautiful spot of bright yellow and knelt down, it was a thick oval patch of dandelion blooms about ten feet by six feet, between the mown field and the back fence.  Dandelions!  I laughed out loud.   My spot of beauty was what most people consider bothersome weeds.  There ought to be a lesson here, I thought, and maybe this is it.

            Not many of us are long stemmed red roses in God’s garden, let alone rare and delicate orchids.  I have met some fresh-faced petunias whose sincerity is obvious, some formal and well-dressed gladioli who can stand before a crowd and speak without fear, some pleasant and reliable carnations who seem able to function in practically any situation, and some sturdy daisies with a lot of staying power.  But some of us are just dandelions, not very popular, not very talented, all too soon developing a cap of fuzzy gray hair.  So do we use that as our excuse?

            Do we sit back and wait for those other blooms to catch everyone’s attention and take care of the business at hand?  Do we still do nothing, even those times in our lives when we are the only blossom in a field full of tares and thistles?  Even a dandelion looks pretty good there.

            That little patch of dandelions gave me the first real laugh I’d had in weeks.  It got me out of a dark, lonely house into a world of sunlight (safely at my back), and a cool breeze filled with birdsong.  My soul recovered more in five minutes than my body had in the whole week before.  What might my day have been like without those humble little plants?

            God has a place for all of us and he won’t accept excuses for doing nothing.  It doesn’t matter if someone else is better known, better liked, or even a whole lot more able, especially if those someones are not present when a need arises.  Stop looking at yourself and look around you—self-absorption never accomplished anything. 

            God is the owner of this garden and He doesn’t mind a dandelion or two.  In fact, it seems like He made more of them than any other flower.

Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with your might, for there is no work nor thought nor knowledge nor wisdom in Sheol to which you are going, Eccl 9:10.

Dene Ward

           I had an up close and personal encounter with a wildflower a couple of years ago.  When we plant a new bed out in the field, we baby it the first year.  The point is for them to grow up scattered in the grasses and among other wildflowers in a natural way, but if you don’t get them off to a good start, they won’t stand a chance with all the competition out there for ground space and rainwater.

            So I was weeding the latest patch, which we had let go far beyond the normal time span.  I had difficulty even finding some of the small plants amid all the waist high grass and weeds.  I had nearly finished, was soaking wet and black up to my elbows, when I noticed one more low-growing weed and bent over to pull it.  I did not see the bare stalk of the wildflower right between my feet, leafless and flowerless, standing three feet high.  I did not know it was there until, as I bent over, it slid right into my eye like a hot wire.  Which eye?  The one which most lately has been operated on, the one with the shunt, the capsular tension ring, and the silicone lens, the one that already hurts the most. 

            The doctor and I spent nearly two weeks fixing me up after this little mishap, checking to see if there was any permanent damage, checking to see if the shunt had been knocked out of place, checking for infection, and worse, for plant fungus.  As it turns out, all I had was a hematoma and a laceration, but it was an exciting couple of weeks.

            That was too close and personal an encounter with a flower, but we can never be too close and personal with God.  I have had to learn that.  The prevailing sentiment many years ago seemed to be that we did not want to do or say anything that might make someone apply a religious pejorative to us indicating belief in something other than correct Bible teaching about God, Christ, and the Holy Spirit.  Instead of saying, “I’m blessed,” instead of saying, “God took care of me,” indeed, instead of attributing anything to the providence of God, we said, “I’m lucky.”  We wouldn’t want someone to get the wrong idea, would we?

            Where did we come up with that?  Read some of David’s psalms.  He gave God the credit for everything.  Read Hannah’s song, or Moses and Miriam’s after crossing the Red Sea.  Since when don’t the people of God tell everyone what God has done for them?

            Read some of Paul’s sermons.  He does not seem a bit concerned that someone might use what he says to give credence to false teaching.  “You know that idol you have out there?” he asks the Athenians, “the one to the Unknown God?  Let me tell you about him.”  He tells Felix, But this I confess to you that after the Way which they call a sect, so serve I the God of our fathers, Acts 24:14.  It didn’t matter a bit what people called it, as long as he could talk about it.  In fact, he used their misconceptions as opportunities to preach the Gospel.

            Maybe that is my problem—I don’t want to talk about it.  It makes me uncomfortable.  It has nothing to do with whether someone gets the wrong idea about the Truth, but everything to do with me feeling ill at ease, or downright embarrassed.  I don’t want to be called a religious fanatic and certainly not a “Holy Roller!”  Yes, I want a close, personal relationship with God, as long as no one else knows about it.

            But here is the deal:  If I am too embarrassed by my relationship with God to even acknowledge it, then He won’t acknowledge me either, and I am the one with everything to lose. 

            Go out there today and say or do something that will make someone else curious enough to ask you a question.  Then open your mouth and unashamedly tell them how wonderful an up close and personal relationship with your Creator and Savior really is.

Everyone therefore who shall confess me before men, him will I also confess before my Father who is in Heaven.  But whoever shall deny me before men, him will I also deny before my Father who is in Heaven, Matt 10:32,33.

Dene Ward

          When people start doing things to your eyes, taking things out and putting things in, cutting into them, pouring chemicals into them, you start seeing strange things.

            A week after one of the operations I had at the Cincinnati Eye Institute I started seeing gold circles as thin as thread right in front of me.  At first I thought I was going through some sort of spider web, although I had never seen a golden one to be sure, but I started waving my hand in front of my face trying to brush it away right in the hotel lobby.  When I looked up, the girl behind the front desk was watching me over her glasses, her eyebrows trying to crawl into her hairline.  She managed to put on her professional face then and check us out. 

            Even now I sometimes see sparkling lights in dark corners, and furtive movements on the periphery of my vision.  I was sitting in the assembly one Sunday when I was positive I saw rats running along the housing for the indirect lighting on the walls near the ceiling.  After I had similar experiences seeing things in the blinds by my chair and out the window next to the dining table, I finally realized it was just another visual anomaly resulting from all the surgery and other treatments I have endured lately.

            But the more frightening problem is the black spot—a “pressure phenomenon,” as one resident calls it.  When I see it, I know the pressure is up.  Some days it is bigger than others, also a bad sign.  The pinprick-sized spot becomes a nail hole, or even a bolt hole.  The first time I saw it, I thought it was a gnat, and I went around all day trying to shoo it away.  Finally it dawned on me that this gnat was always in the same place.  I bet I looked pretty funny those few hours before I figured it out.

            I wish that spot would go away.  On days when it does, I feel a lot better both physically and mentally.  Weariness and stress seem to be the worst aggravators of the problem.  It reminds me of Lady Macbeth, who succumbed to such guilt over prodding her husband to murder the king that she saw a spot of blood on her hands, and no matter how many times she wiped them, it would not come off.  “Who would have thought an old man could bleed so much?” she asks during her famous speech about “the spot.”

            We have a spot too—one that will not go away, no matter how many times we wipe it, no matter how many times we wash our hands before the world as Pilate did, no matter how strong the soap we use.. 

            Nowadays, mental health experts recognize the signs of guilt and the problems it causes.  Their solution is to deny the existence of sin and therefore, remove guilt altogether.  Now that’s handy, isn’t it?  All I need to do to avoid feeling bad about doing wrong is believe that it is right.  So who gets to decide what is right?  What if I don’t like your version of sins, especially if it makes your sins legal and mine illegal?  Only One is qualified to decide what is right and what is wrong.

            And, coincidentally, only one thing will make that guilt go away, and only one person can do it for us.  In fact, He requires it of anyone who wants to follow Him.  No matter how many times we tell ourselves that wrong is actually right, if we don’t let Him rid us of the spot of sin, the guilt will eat us alive just as it did that fictional Lady. 

            Get rid of the spot while you still can.  There will come a time when the offer is rescinded.

 Husbands love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church and gave himself up for it, that he might sanctify it, having cleansed it by washing of water with the word, that he might present the church to himself glorious, not having spot or wrinkle or any such thing, but that it should be holy and without blemish, Eph 5:25-27.

Dene Ward

            Do you want to know what the word “relative” means?  Just follow me around for awhile and listen to the doctors. 

            Many years ago we moved a thousand miles and I went to a new ophthalmologist for the first time.  Unfortunately, my file did not make it before the appointment.  The doctor looked at my eyes and the contacts I was wearing at the time and shook his head.  “Who fit these?  He obviously doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

            A week later I returned to his office.  He had received the file and read it through, noting the nanophthalmic eyes and the incredibly steep corneas.  “Your doctor is a genius,” he pronounced.  “I don’t know how he did this.  You shouldn’t even be able to wear contact lenses, but had he not been able to do it, you would be blind by now.”  Nothing about my eyes changed, but the doctor’s opinion certainly did.

            Then there was the difference between the lens implant surgeon in Cincinnati and my glaucoma surgeon.  The first considered the lens implant almost a failure because my nanophthalmus had skewed the formulas and I still could not see well.  The second considered it a success because I could still see at all. 

            Only a few weeks ago, I had a visit with the retina guru after a “retina event” as they called it in the glaucoma hall.  The tech there declared it impossible for the doctor to be able to see into “these tiny little pupils.  You will most certainly need to be dilated.”  (This, in spite of the fact that my chart is stamped in large, red, capital letters DO NOT DILATE.)   The retina doctor knew better than to dilate someone with my symptoms and overruled her.  Later, when the glaucoma doctor looked into my eyes, he said, “What are they complaining about?  These are nice big pupils.”  Of course, he has been dealing with them for years.

            You see, good for me is bad for you, at least at the ophthalmologist’s office.    

            Many things are like that.  If you’re from the north, you think Florida winters are warm and springs are hot.  If you are from Florida, you think the northeast is arid.  You would probably turn to dust the minute you walked into Arizona.  And because we understand the concept of relativity, we have a tendency not to see the awfulness of sin, particularly our own.  I’m not bad, we think.  I haven’t murdered anyone, I haven’t stolen from anyone.  I don’t lie—well, at least not big black lies.  And there we go excusing ourselves because we can always find someone worse than we are.  Paul, in another context, mentions those who measure themselves by one another and compare themselves with one another, concluding that they are without understanding, 2 Cor 10:12.  We are too, if we think we can get to Heaven by comparing our lives to anything other than God’s standard

            Nothing is relative when it comes to sin.  When we think we can decide which sins need to be repented of and which don’t, when we think we can choose a standard of our own, whether a person or a personal credo, when we think we are the ones who get to draw the line, God will not tolerate even what we consider the tiniest of sins.  To paraphrase Gertrude Stein, a sin by any other name will still rise as a stench in the nostrils of God.

            There is nothing relative about sin.  It is a theory that will always prove false.

For whoever shall keep the whole law yet stumble in one point, he has become guilty of it all.  For he who said, Do not commit adultery, also said, Do not kill.  Now if you do not commit adultery but you do kill, you have become a transgressor of the law.  So speak and so do as men who are to be judged by a perfect law of liberty, James 2:10-12.

Dene Ward

(For hints, help, and instructions on using this blog, click on the FAQ/Tutorial page on the left sidebar)

            When I was 14 a new young doctor came to town, one who was not afraid to “think outside the box.”  My older doctor turned me over to him and he decided to try contact lenses on me.  I had been wearing coke bottle glasses since I was 4 and my vision declined steadily year after year with the bottoms of the coke bottles getting thicker and thicker.

            In those days, hard, nonporous contact lenses were all they had.  Usually they were the size of fish scales.  Mine were not any broader in circumference but they were still as thick as miniature coke bottle bottoms and nearly as heavy on my eyes.  Most people who wore normal lenses could only tolerate them for six to eight hours.  Now add a cornea shaped like the end of a football, a corrugated football at that, and these things were not meant to be comfortable on my eyes, certainly not for the 16-18 hours a day I had to wear them.

            So why did I do it?  My prescription was +17.25.  The doctor told me there was no number on the chart for my vision.  (“Chart?  What chart?  I don’t see any chart.”)  He said if there were, it would be something like 20/10,000, a hyperbole I am sure, but it certainly made the point.  Hard contacts were my only hope.  If they could stabilize my eyesight, I would last a bit longer.  When I was 20, another doctor told me I would certainly have been totally blind by then if not for those contact lenses.

            Then soft contact lenses were invented and their popularity grew.  But they were not for me.  They would not have stabilized my vision.  I lost count of the number of times people who wore soft lenses said to me, “I tried those hard ones, but I just could not tolerate them.  You are so lucky you can wear them.”

            Luck had nothing to do with it.  My young doctor was smart.  He sat me down and said, “The only way you will be able to do this with these eyes is to really want to.  You must make up your mind that you will do it no matter what.”  That was quite a burden to place on a fourteen year old, but his tactics worked.  Despite the discomfort, I managed, and managed so well that most people never knew how uncomfortable I was.  Finally, when what seemed like the 1000th person told me they just could not tolerate hard lenses, I said, “You didn’t need them badly enough.”  Most of us can do much more than we ever thought possible when we really have to.

            Need is a strong motivation.  A couple of thousand years ago, it motivated a woman to go where she was not expected, normally not even allowed, and certainly not wanted. 

            Simon the Pharisee decided to have Jesus for dinner.  I read that it was the custom of the day for the leading Pharisee in the town to have the distinguished rabbi over for a meal when he sojourned there.  While the man would invite his friends to eat the meal, an open door policy made it possible for any interested party to come in and stand along the wall to listen--any interested man, that is.  Of course, it was assumed that only righteous men would be interested.

            In walked a “sinful” woman.  Luke, in chapter 7, uses a word that does not in itself imply any specific sin, but it was commonly used by that society to refer to what they considered the lowest of sinners, publicans and harlots.  The mere fact that she was a woman also caused someone in the crowd to exclaim, “Look!  A woman!” in what we assume was horrified shock.

            The men were all lying around a low table with their bodies resting on a couch and their feet turned away from the table in the direction of the wall, while their left elbows rested on the table.  The woman came into the room, walked around the wall, and began crying over Jesus’ feet.  Immediately, she knelt to wipe his feet with her hair.  I am told that this too was unacceptable.  “To unbind and loosen the hair in public before strangers was considered disgraceful and indecent for a woman,” commentator Lenski says.  We later discover that these were dirty, dusty feet from walking unpaved roads in sandals.  How do we know?  Because Simon did not even offer Jesus the customary hospitable foot washing. 

            Then she took an alabaster cruse of ointment, a costly gift, and anointed his feet—not just a token drop or two, but the entire contents--once the cruse was broken open, it was useless as a storage container.

            What did Simon do?  Nothing outward, but Jesus knew what he thought, and told him a story. 

            One man owed a lender 500 shillings, and another owed him 50.  Both were forgiven their debts when they could not pay.  Who, Jesus asked him, do you think was the most grateful?  The one who owed the most, of course, Simon easily answered.

            And so by using his own prejudices against him, Jesus proved that Simon himself was less grateful to God than this sinful woman.  His own actions, or lack thereof toward Jesus was the proof.  This man, like so many others of his party, was completely satisfied with himself and where he stood before God.  And that satisfaction blinded him to his own need, for truly no one can stand before God in his own righteousness.  His gratitude suffered because he did not feel his need.  Would he have gone into a hostile environment and lowered himself to do the most menial work a servant could do, and that in front of others?  Hardly.

            So how much do I think I need the grace of God?  The answer is the same one to how far I will go to get it, how much I will sacrifice to receive it, and how much pain I will put up with for even the smallest amount to touch my life.  Am I a self-satisfied Simon the Pharisee, more concerned with respectability than with his own need for forgiveness, or a sinful woman, who probably took the deepest breath of her life and walked into a room full of hostile men because she knew it was her only chance at Life? 

And turning to the woman, he said unto Simon, See this woman? I entered into your house; you gave me no water for my feet: but she has wet my feet with her tears, and wiped them with her hair.  You gave me no kiss: but she, since the time I came in, has not ceased to kiss my feet.  My head with oil you did not anoint: but she has anointed my feet with ointment.  So I say unto you, Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much: but to whom little is forgiven, loves little.  And he said unto her, Your sins are forgiven… Your faith has saved you; go in peace, Luke 7:44-48,50.

Dene Ward

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[This was written a few years ago after a serious surgery with even more serious complications.  Just so you have the proper context…]

            When I was little and listened to the sick list at church, no matter where we went, there was always someone who was “chronically ill.”   All that meant to me was they were never at church.  I couldn’t fathom an illness that never got any better, that gave you good days and bad days, that made you careful not to “overdo” because of the adverse effects that might have on you.  Now I understand, and wish I didn’t.

            I no longer have any social life--my doctor is my social life.  I see more of him than any of my brothers and sisters in the Lord.  I talk on the phone more to his office help than to church folks.  I spend more hours sitting in his examining chair than I do in a pew.  In fact, they ought to rent me a room there. 

            And I know this will take a toll on my spirituality.  It becomes more and more difficult to keep a good attitude.   While I certainly have more time to study, not having a current class to prepare to teach makes it less a priority and easy to put off, especially when reading is so difficult.  Helping others is nearly impossible, especially when you don’t even know what’s going on with the brethren any more.  So yes, my spirituality is suffering.  I struggle to keep it every day.  But the circumstances cannot be helped.

            What I do not understand is people who do this to themselves on purpose:  those who darken the meetinghouse door only enough to keep the elders and deacons off their backs, and leave while the last amen is still echoing down the hall; who never take advantage of the extra Bible studies held in homes, a safe place to ask questions without embarrassment and learn from those who have wisdom and experience in life; who avoid all the social gatherings of the church scheduled between the services, while regularly finding time to be with friends in the world, not to teach, but simply to socialize; who never have a Bible lesson prepared—that’s only for the children—who never attend a wedding or funeral so they can “weep with those who weep and rejoice with those who rejoice,” those who are healthy enough to jog, to play tennis, to hunt or fish, to go to ball games and sit in the hot sun for hours cheering, but simply do not want more than they consider the bare minimum to get by as a Christian. 

            Here is the problem with that:  there is no such thing as the bare minimum.  If Satan can get you to believe that lie, he has sabotaged any chance you have to make it to Heaven.  God expects us to give our all, no matter how much that may be; more for some, less for others, depending upon the circumstances of life.  It is difficult enough when the minimum IS your maximum, but doing that to yourself on purpose will only make you miserable in both lives, this one and the one to come.

            The early Christians understood that they were spiritual lifelines for each other; they would not let go for anyone or anything.  They spent time together, strengthening one another from the beginning, and because of that they were able to withstand horrors we can only imagine.  If you wait till the horror is upon you to reach out for that lifeline, it is probably too late.

And all that believed were together and had all things common…And day by day continuing steadfastly with one accord in the Temple, and breaking bread from house to house, they took their food with gladness and singleness of heart, praising God and having favor with all the people.  And the Lord added to them day by day those that were saved, Acts 2:44,46,47.

Dene Ward

(For hints, help, and instructions on using this blog, click on the FAQ/Tutorial page on the left sidebar)

            I was looking through Galatians 6 the other day and came across that verse that perplexes so many scholars; See with what large letters I write unto you with my own hand, v 11.  If scholars do not know what it means, I certainly don’t, but this is the way my mind wandered that day.

            Is Paul talking about writing something with large letters?  Did he have a hand injury?  I had surgery on my right hand when I was in college.  For two months I took notes in classes with my left hand.  As a right-hander, I had to write larger than usual in order to maintain any control and be able to read the product.  Still, it looked like a kindergartner’s printing, but at least I could study for my finals.

            But what if, as is more in keeping with my predicament these days, he had to use large letters so he could see what he had written?  Maybe that was the case and maybe not, but it made me think of the day I discovered how to change the font size on my PC.  What a wonderful day!  By upping the font to 18 or 24 point I could actually write emails and articles I could proofread myself.  Hurray!

            And then I thought, what if poor vision was his problem?  In spite of that, without a PC, without a mouse to click on a larger font, without even a typewriter for all that, he managed to write (or dictate) epistles that still leave us studying more and more deeply.  That might not have anything to do with Gal 6:11, but you can see how my mind kept traveling, because that led me to wonder about all those first century brothers and sisters of ours.  Without copy machines, they managed to copy those epistles and send them on to the next church.  Without airplanes or automobiles, they managed to travel miles and miles on foot, or risk life and limb in a boat no one could possibly mistake for a cruise ship, and carry those messages and minister to those evangelists.  Without television, telephone, or radio, without film strips or DVDs, tracts or lesson books, they managed to teach their neighbors and families. 

            And what happened?  Within 30 years they spread the gospel to the entire world according to Col 1:5,6, and 23.  Those people, who had every excuse we don’t have, turned the world upside down, Acts 17:6.

            And here we sit whining because of what we’d like to do if only we could.  How many churches, after thirty years, have the same number or less members because they have not managed to spread the gospel to just the town they are a part of, much less the whole world?  Those people toiled for hours a day just to survive, and still managed to spend time on the WORD.  When we finish “just getting by,” we spend our time on the WORLD.  Only one letter difference in those two words, but it certainly is a “large letter,” isn’t it? 

            What will you spend your spare time on today?

And you became imitators of us and of the Lord, having received the word in much affliction with joy of the Holy Spirit, so that you became an ensample to all those who believe in Macedonia and Achaia.  For from you has sounded forth the Word of the Lord, not only in Macedonia and Achaia, but in every place your faith toward God has gone forth, so that we need not to speak anything,  1 Thes 1:6-8.

Dene Ward

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            Anyone who knows what last summer was like, knows that my usual routine was seriously disrupted.  In three months’ time, I had 28 doctor appointments, a full-blown surgery, and a dozen more procedures.  Getting a haircut was the last thing on my mind.  In fact, most of the time I could not have cared less how my hair looked.  But then it started falling into my face and getting in my eyes, a serious problem for someone with “two very sick eyeballs,” as one doctor put it.

            So about the middle of July, I cut it myself.

            The problem with giving yourself a haircut is you cannot see the back of your head.  No matter how much you twist your neck around, the back of your head just keeps getting away from you.  And holding another mirror only works if you have three hands—one to hold the second mirror, one to hold your hair, and one to hold the scissors.

            So I found myself doing a lot of guesswork.  Having curly hair hid most of the mistakes, but is it any wonder that by the first of September my locks were looking a bit ragged?  I could hardly wait for someone who could see me from their perspective to even things out a little bit—well, a lot, actually.

            Isn’t it funny that the last thing we want spiritually is for someone to help us even out our lives?  For some reason we do not mind going around with ragged lives, and worse, we want to believe they are not ragged at all.  We want to believe that what we see about ourselves is the way things really are.  Please pat down my unruly curl, please tell me to get the green out of my teeth, please unfold my hem, please stuff that facing back into my neckline—you are not a true friend if you let me go out in public this way—but do not under any circumstances tell me my faults, my spiritual imperfections, my sins.  You are not my friend if you do tell me about those.

            Could we be any more illogical?  Why is how my hair looks more important than how my soul looks?  The eternity caused by a spiritual imperfection is a whole lot longer than the embarrassment of half a day in town shopping with a physical imperfection.  We are falling into the sin of the Galatian brethren of whom Paul said, So then, have I become your enemy by telling you the truth? Gal 4:16. 

            James tells us that we should confess our faults one to another, 5:16.  If we were to call an assembly of the church for the express purpose of allowing everyone to confess their faults in turn, I wonder how many would show up.  I wonder how long the service would last.  I wonder how many people would suddenly become good students of the scriptures, researching all the words in that verse so they could find a way out of it.

            Unfortunately, most of us do not have “the gift to see ourselves as others see us,” (apologies to Robert Burns).  We do not have three hands to hold the mirror and the hair, and make the correct cuts.  That is one reason God gave us each other.  Don’t you think it’s about time we started accepting that gift from one another?

Faithful are the wounds of a friend, but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful, Prov 27:6.

Dene Ward