I knew a woman once, a faithful Christian, who believed that crying over the death of a loved one was sinful.  She bravely, some would say, faced the loss of a child to a dread disease with a smile.  No one ever saw a tear leave her eyes.  I know a lot of people who agree with her, a lot of people who would applaud her as “strong and full of faith.”  I don’t.  In fact, that erroneous belief of hers affected both her physical and mental health for the rest of her life.  It also made her unsympathetic to others she should have been best able to comfort. 

              God created us and He made within us the impulse to cry, just as He made other appetites and needs.  He never expected us not to cry, not to mourn, and not to grieve.  Do you want some examples?  Abraham cried when Sarah died, Gen 23:2.  Jonathan and David cried when they realized they would not be together again in this lifetime, 1 Sam 20:41, and David cried again when he heard that Jonathan, and even Saul, were dead, 2 Sam 3:32.  Hezekiah “wept bitterly” when he heard that he had a terminal illness, 2 Kgs 20:3.  Paul wept real tears when he suffered for the Lord, Acts 20:19, and he wept for those who had fallen from the way, Phil 3:19.  Where do we get this notion that righteous, faithful people never cry?

              1 Thes 4:13 does not say we sorrow not over the death of loved ones.  It says we sorrow not as others do who have no hope.  “As” means in the same manner.  Yes we sorrow, but not in the same way.  We know something more awaits us.  Our sorrow is tempered with the knowledge that we will one day be together again, but that does not mean the sorrow ceases to exist—it simply changes. 

              I cried often after my Daddy died, usually when I saw something he had made for me, or given me, or repaired that I had thought was a goner.  He was handy that way, and I miss the care he showed for me in those small gestures.  Even now, writing these things makes my eyes burn and water just a bit, several years after his passing.  But I do not, and I have never, let grief consume me and keep me from my service to God and to others.  I have not let it destroy my faith—my hope—that I will see him again and be with him forever.

              Anyone who thinks that crying is faithless sits with Job’s cold, merciless friends.  Job did cry.  Job did ask God why.  Job did complain with all his might about the things he was experiencing, yet “in all this Job sinned not with his lips” Job 2:10.  What did he get from his friends?  Nothing but accusation and rebuke.  “Have pity upon me, oh you my friends,” he finally wails in 19:21.  Paul says we are to “weep with those who weep,” Rom 12:15.  If weeping were sinful, shouldn’t he have told us to, as Job’s friends did, rebuke them instead?  No, God plainly says at the end of the book that Job’s friends were the ones who were wrong.

              And, of course, Jesus cried.  I have heard Bible classes tie themselves into knots trying to make it okay for Jesus to cry at the tomb of Lazarus.  How about this?  He was sad!  To try to take that sadness away from Him strips Him of the first sacrifice He made for us when He carefully and deliberately put on humanity.  Hebrews says He was “tempted in all points like us yet without sin.”  That means He experienced sadness, and people who are sad cry.

              Do you think He can’t understand our specific problems because He never lost a child? 

              And when he drew near he saw the city and wept over it…O Jerusalem, Jerusalem…how often would I have gathered your children together as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings and you would not, Luke 19:41; Matt 23:37.

               When Israel was a child, I loved him, and out of Egypt I called my son. The more they were called, the more they went away; they kept sacrificing to the Baals and burning offerings to idols. Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk; I took them up by their arms, but they did not know that I healed them. I led them with cords of kindness, with the bands of love, and I became to them as one who eases the yoke on their jaws, and I bent down to them and fed them... How can I give you up, O Ephraim? How can I hand you over, O Israel? How can I make you like Admah? How can I treat you like Zeboiim? My heart recoils within me; my compassion grows warm and tender, Hos 11:1-4,11.

              Anyone who cannot hear the tears in those words is probably not a parent yet.  God knows what it is like to lose a child in the worst way possible--spiritually.  Don’t tell the Lord it’s a sin to cry.

              I have seen too many people nearly ruin themselves trying to do the impossible.  I have seen others drive the sorrowful away with a cold lack of compassion.  Grieving is normal.  Grieving is even good for you, and God knows that better than anyone since He made our minds and bodies to do just that.  How much of a promise would it be to “wipe away all tears from their eyes” if He expected us to do it now?  In fact, David asks God in a poignant psalm to collect his tears in His bottle—don’t forget that I am sad, Lord.  Don’t let my tears simply fall to the ground and dry up, keep count of them—“keep them in your book” Psa 56:8.  Do you think He would have preserved that psalm for us if crying were a sin?

              If you have lost someone near and dear, if you have received a bad diagnosis, if you have been afflicted in any way, go ahead and cry.  This isn’t Heaven after all.  But don’t lose your faith.  Sorrow as one who has hope, as the father of the faithful did, as the “man after God’s own heart did,” as one of the most righteous kings Judah ever had did, as perhaps the greatest apostle did, even as the Lord did.  Let it out so you can heal, and then go on serving your Lord.  His hand will be on you, and one day—not now, but one day--He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away. Revelation 21:4
 
Dene Ward

“They didn’t come see me when I was sick.”

              You’d think by now I’d be used to it.  I’ve heard it everywhere I’ve been, but it still amazes me that people who have been Christians for decades still view suffering the wrong way.  Yes, we suffer in this life.  All of us suffer in one way or the other.  So why do those few think that the reason for their suffering is so they can be “Queen for a Day?” 

              Probably only a few of you remember that show.  I was very young myself.  Originally it aired on a local radio show in LA, but it was picked up for national broadcast by NBC on January 3, 1956.  It has been called the first “reality show” and it was roundly criticized even in its day.  It went like this:  three or four women showed up to tell their stories of woe and suffering and the audience voted on who was suffering the most and that one “lucky” woman received a robe, a crown, a bouquet of roses, and several prizes, in effect being treated like a queen for one day.  A contest to see who is suffering the most?  Really?  But isn’t that what so many in the church do?  “I deserve more attention than so-and-so because I have more problems than she does.”

              People who constantly complain about not getting enough attention are giving themselves away for, as Jesus says, “Out of the heart the mouth speaks,” Matt 15:18.  Indeed, if my suffering were as severe as my “Woe is me!” attitude, I wouldn’t be thinking about the attention I do or don’t get, but about the trial itself.  But all that is beside the point.  Suffering is not about being served.

              Peter tells us that suffering refines us, makes us pure and stronger (1 Pet 1:6-9).  James seems to indicate that suffering brings wisdom (Jas 1:2-6).  But I think that even those things don’t reach the ultimate reason we suffer.  Suffering is about discipleship.  A disciple is not above his teacher, but everyone when he is fully trained will be like his teacher, Luke 6:40.  Why do we think we can be a disciple of a suffering servant and never suffer like he did?

              So why did Jesus have to suffer?  Hebrews tells us that because he suffered he is able to help those who also suffer (2:18), and that as a high priest he is able to sympathize with us (4:15.).  He learned obedience by the things he suffered “with loud cries and tears,” (5:8).  Yes, he really suffered and the whole purpose of his suffering was so he could help others who are suffering the same way.

              So why do I suffer?  Doesn’t it make sense that as a disciple of Christ, I am suffering for the same reason he did, so I can accomplish the same thing he accomplished?  We neither suffer so we can be the center of attention nor so we can stand as judge over others who give that attention.  We suffer so that we can better serve those who are suffering similar things.  Even the purity, strength, and wisdom that come from suffering helps us accomplish those ends.  As with everything else in a Christian’s life, my suffering is not about me, it is about others. 

              Have you been forsaken by an unfaithful spouse?  Be willing to talk openly to those who are going through the same things.  You may well be the only one who understands the thoughts that go through one’s head, the looks you get from others, the ordeal of custody battles and the instant poverty that sometimes accompanies this betrayal.

              Have you survived cancer?  Look for new victims who feel the constant pressure of wondering not if it will return, but when.  Look for still others, not just cancer victims, but anyone with a bleak prognosis.  No one understands the axe hanging over their heads like you do.

              Have you been the victim of violent crime?  No one understands the constant terror that one lives with after that, the burden of overcoming paranoia—seeing a boogeyman behind every face in a parking lot, in a grocery aisle, passing you in a car as you walk to get the mail.  No one else can understand the embarrassment of once again becoming a little child who is afraid of the dark.

              Have you lost a child?  Have you lost a child to the world?  Have you faced financial ruin?  Have you lost everything to a fire, a hurricane, a tornado?  Are you facing disability or the caregiving of a spouse who no longer knows who you are?  Everyone has faced something, and God expects you to use that experience, and the strength and wisdom you have gained from it, to help someone else.  You are the Lord’s agent on this earth.  Don’t let all your pain go to waste.

              None of this can be accomplished if I am still whining about a loss that occurred years ago.  No one can be helped if I am still expecting everyone to pat me on the back for every little thing that comes along.  At some point God expects me to not get over it—that may never happen—but to get past it, to no longer be paralyzed by grief but ready to serve.  Some afflictions are more difficult than others.  Some trials need a longer recovery period, but mature Christians eventually grow beyond the selfish need for attention. 

              We don’t suffer so we can be “Queen for a Day.”  On the contrary, suffering makes us both eligible and obligated to help others.  God expects me to search out those who need my special experiences and serve.  Just when has He ever expected anything less of His people?
 
So Jesus also suffered outside the gate in order to sanctify the people through his own blood. Therefore let us go to him outside the camp and bear the reproach he endured. Hebrews 13:12-13
 
Dene Ward

I had sat there for hours like I always do, occasionally undergoing a test or other procedure, waiting for the doctor to finally reach my chart, along with a dozen or more other patients who also sit for hours every time we go to the Eye Clinic at the University of Florida School of Medicine.  But this time was different.

              An older woman and her husband sat next to me.  As often happens, we began to talk, usually about how long we have been waiting, the longest we have ever had to wait, and the various distances we all travel to see this world renowned, and incredibly skillful doctor we share.  Then she said four words, “I have a shunt,” and everything changed.

              My head whirled around, riveted to her face and especially her eyes.  “You do?”

              “Yes, two actually.”

              “I have one, too,” I said, excitement creeping into my voice.

              Her eyes instantly lit up.  “You do?” and there followed an hour of, “Do you have trouble with depth perception?  Do you see circles?  Does it ache?”  One question followed another, both of us nodding to one another and saying, “Yes, yes. Me too!”

              Finally someone understands, finally someone knows how I feel (both of us were thinking). 

              Someone understands how odd your vision can be; how colors have changed, how light “gets in the way;” how you can’t tell when a curb is a step up or step down or any step at all; how riding in the passenger seat makes vehicles in front of you look much closer; how many strange things can go wrong with an eyeball after what seems to the world like an easy surgery—why, you didn’t even have to stay in the hospital so how could it be serious? Someone else understands how much pain eye drops can cause, and how all those beta blockers can wreak havoc with your stamina; how careful you have to be when doing something as simple as wiping your eye because of all the hardware inside and on top of it; how inappropriate the remark, “I hope you get better soon,” is because there is no hope for better, just a hope that it will not get worse too soon; and someone else knows the feeling that any day could be the day that it all blows up.

              We sat there talking like close personal friends.  Occasionally she looked over at her husband and said, “You see?  I’m not crazy after all,” and he nodded, a bit patronizingly I thought, but we had developed such a quick and strong bond that perhaps I was just feeling protective.

              We were both called to separate exam rooms but when I left, I waved across the hall and wished her well.  I never got her name, nor she mine.  Strange, I guess, but we never felt the need to ask personal questions—we felt like we had known one another for years, and all because we felt the kinship of understanding what each of us was experiencing when no one else did.

              No matter what you are going through today, you have a friend just like that.  God emptied Himself to become a man and experience what you experience, feel what you feel, and suffer what you suffer.  He did that precisely so He could understand.  I always knew that, but now I really know how quickly a bond can form simply because of that shared experience. 

              But what if I had never responded to the woman’s simple statement about a shunt?  What if I had just sat there and done nothing?  That bond would never have formed.  It takes a response to the offer to gain the reward.  It takes a willingness to open up and share with the Lord the things you are feeling.  Yes, He already knows, but you will never feel the closeness of that bond until you share with Him as well.

              That day it felt like I had found, not a new friend, but a long, lost friend from the past.  When it happens that fast, it can’t be a complete stranger, can it?  Why don’t you turn around and talk to the Man next to you today and find out for yourself?
 
Since therefore the children share in flesh and blood, he himself likewise partook of the same things, that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and deliver all those who through fear of death were subject to lifelong slavery…Therefore he had to be made like his brothers in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make propitiation for the sins of the people. For because he himself has suffered when tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted, Heb 2:14-18.
 
Dene Ward
 

Trying to make sense of tribulation without the Divine guidance of the scriptures is hopeless.  People have been asking this question for thousands of years.  Why do bad things happen to good people? 

              David, Job, and Jeremiah all spent time pondering the seeming inequities of life, and those writings are where we spend our time mulling over the matter.  It dawned on me one day last week, that after Christ came, you seldom see any writing on the subject at all.  Suddenly the question comes with answers.  Suddenly people see a reason for their troubles.  Suddenly it all makes sense to them.  Why is that?

              Christ created a hope that was only dreamed of in the Old Testament; a hope that the faithful looked forward to with anticipation, but were never allowed to see.  The early Christians, many of whom were never even brought up with the notion of the true Jehovah God, quickly gained a perspective that actually turned tribulations into a reason for rejoicing.  Why?  Because they presented opportunities to serve God and to serve others.  That is what being a disciple of Christ is all about.  That is what they had committed their lives to.  Of course they were happy when an opportunity arose.

              Paul was thrown into prison.  Surely Satan meant that as a means to keep the gospel from spreading.  How did Paul see it?  I want you to know, brothers, that what has happened to me has really served to advance the gospel, so that it has become known throughout the whole imperial guard and to all the rest that my imprisonment is for Christ. And most of the brothers, having become confident in the Lord by my imprisonment, are much more bold to speak the word without fear, Phil 1:12-14.  Paul managed to find two good reasons for being thrown into prison—he could preach to those he had never reached before and others were preaching even more. 

              No, it is not easy in the midst of pain and sorrow, in the middle of worries that spin uncontrollably in your mind all night long to find the opportunity in a trial.  Yet that is exactly what Paul’s example shows we should do. Surely we can find opportunities when tribulations assail us, especially considering how small they are compared to Paul’s.

              Are you suffering with a terrible illness?  How many of these medical people you now see every day would you never have met otherwise?  Now you can show them what faith means.  They might never have seen it otherwise.  Certainly the ones among them who never even pick up a Bible wouldn’t have.

              Are you shunned for your stand for morality?  Perhaps there are others watching who might now have the same strength due to your example.  Perhaps one of them will ask you about it and you will have the chance to teach him, or to invite him to an assembly of saints, a whole group of people who feel like he does, which will give him an instant desire for the fellowship you enjoy.

              Can you see in just those examples and Paul’s that trials may be Satan trying to take you down, but they are also God trying to pull you up, trying to give you a reason for your faith and the legs to stand on when anyone else might simply cave?  Can’t you see that in tribulation God is allowing us to do the thing we claim to be most important in our lives—service.

              Tribulations are opportunities to serve.  Repeat it like a mantra.  Then put it into action.  If we don’t, then have we truly become disciples of Christ? 

              Seize the opportunities.  God only parcels them out to those he loves.
 
"Behold, I go forward, but he is not there, and backward, but I do not perceive him; on the left hand when he is working, I do not behold him; he turns to the right hand, but I do not see him. But he knows the way that I take; when he has tried me, I shall come out as gold. Job 23:8-10.

Dene Ward

Actually, this should probably be Conducting 101, but let’s stretch a point this morning.  Meanwhile you are sitting there wondering what in the world an ictus is and why you should care.

              The ictus is the point in the conductor’s pattern where the actual beat occurs.  If you are tapping your toes to the music, the ictus occurs when your foot hits the ground.

              My conducting professor would have a cow if he saw most of the conducting patterns we see on Sunday mornings.  Not because they are “incorrect,” but because the ictus usually occurs up around the song leader’s ear, when it should be at his waist.  But few of my brethren are professional musicians, so who cares where the ictus is, as long as there is one? 

              That ictus, that stable underlying pulse, must be visible and steady so that we know when to sing.  What drives me crazy is when a leader just waves his arm on each word, rather than each beat, and expects us to read his mind about when the next one is coming.  Give me an ictus!  Even if you begin an accelerando (gradually speeding up) or a ritardando (gradually slowing down), we can still anticipate when a beat is coming and stay together as long as there is an ictus in your pattern.  If you’re just beating words instead of beats, who knows when it will come?

              Of course, the group has to be watching the leader for any of it to work at all.  Funny how the ones who recite, “Let all things be done decently and in order,” will sing what they want when they want, regardless what the leader is doing, and do it loudly enough that they take half the congregation with them.  But don’t get me started…

              God is the ictus in a Christian’s life.  [The Lord] is the stability in your times, Isaiah said, 33:6.  That word is the same word translated “faithfulness” in many other passages.  God’s faithfulness endures forever, Psa 117:2.

              Interestingly enough, it is also the word “steady” in Ex 17:12.  Moses lifted up his hands as the people fought the Amalekites, but as his strength failed and they sagged, Aaron and Hur sat him on a rock and held his hands “steady” for him until the battle was over.  God holds his hands steadily on high as we fight our battles.  That is how we defeat Satan and overcome sin.  It’s how we handle trials and tribulations—with the steady helping hand of a God who never wavers. 

              Even if you aren’t a trained musician you can feel the beat.  That’s why your toes tap and your hands clap.  It’s why your head bounces when you hear a tune you enjoy, but none of it matters if you aren’t watching the leader.

              God doesn’t leave you wondering when the next beat will come.  Look for the ictus as He leads you.  Sometimes it may slow as the toils of life bog you down, but it will not leave you behind fending for yourself.  Sometimes it may speed up as you run from the Enemy, but it is always there for the ones who care to watch and be led. 

              I often listen to music when I exercise.  I find I can go longer and do more than just counting repetitions.  If you are in a particularly difficult time of life, let God’s ictus help you put one step in front of the other, again and again and again, until you have finally reached the end of the trial.  Let it help you keep moving until you achieve the final goal.  God’s steady, stable, faithful hand will lead you on, until you sing that final triumphant note in the song of life.
 
 I will sing of the steadfast love of the LORD, forever; with my mouth I will make known your faithfulness to all generations. For I said, "Steadfast love will be built up forever; in the heavens you will establish your faithfulness." Psa 89:1-2.
 
Dene Ward
 

Getting old is the pits or, as is popular to say among my friends, it isn’t for wimps. 

              I remember when I used to run 30 miles a week and exercise another 5 hours besides.  I lifted light weights and did aerobics and the standard floor exercises for abs and glutes and those floppy chicken wings on the back of your arms—triceps, I think they’re called.  I didn’t like the notion of waving hello to the people in front of me and having those things wave goodbye to the people behind me at the same time.

              Now, due to doctor’s orders, I have to limit how much I pick up, how long I bend over, and how much and how strenuous the activity I participate in.  Good-bye slim, svelte body (as much as it ever could be with my genes), and hello floppy chicken wings.  Now I can only do a little and boy, does it show—and hurt!

              I was doing a little step work the other day (very little) when a knife-sharp stab stopped me in my tracks.  Yeow!  What was that?  So I stepped up again and found out immediately—it was something deep inside my knee.  I stopped and thought.

              In all that exercising over the years I have learned at least a little bit about it.  For example, if you change the angle of your body, suddenly you feel the work in a different muscle, sometimes on a completely different part of your body.  When I took that step up, I was using nothing but my knee, a very fragile joint—how many professional athletes have had their careers cut short with a knee injury?  Lifting that much weight over and over and over, even for just the ten minutes I allowed it, was too much for that little joint to bear alone. 

              So I focused on changing the working muscle.  All it took was putting the entire foot on the step instead of just my toes, and pushing up from my heel on each repetition.  Suddenly, the large muscle mass from my legs and up through the small of my back was doing all the work (especially that extra large muscle), and my knee scarcely hurt at all.  Ha!  I finished my allotment of sweating for the day with no pain, and only a mild ache where it really needed to be aching in the first place.

              That’s exactly what happens to us when we try to bear our burdens alone.  All we are is a fragile little knee joint, when what we need is a huge mass of muscle.  Cast your burden on the Lord and he will sustain you, David said in Psa 55:22.  Do you think that strong warrior didn’t need help at times?  But David was greatly distressed…[and he] strengthened himself in the Lord his God, 1 Sam 30:6.  David was not too macho to know when he needed help and where to get it.

              Too many times we try to gain strength from everything but God--money, portfolios, annuities, doctors, self-help programs, counseling, networking, anything as long as we don’t have to confess a reliance on God.  It isn’t weak to depend upon your Almighty Creator—it’s wisdom and good common sense.  The Lord is my helper, I will not fear; what can man do to me? asked the Hebrew writer in 13:6.  Indeed, not only is what man can do to you nothing compared to the Lord’s power, what he can do for you is even less. 

              When life starts stabbing you in the heart with pain, anxiety, and distress shift your focus.  Remember who best can bear the weight of sin and woes, and let Him make that burden easy enough for you to handle.  I still had to use my knees that day, but they certainly felt a lot better than they did before, and even better the next morning.  By yourself, you will do nothing but ruin your career (Eph 4:1) with a knee injury, but you and the Lord can handle anything.
 
Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you. 1 Peter 5:6-7
 
Dene Ward

Today's post is by guest writer Lucas Ward.

A little while back I had one of those days. The first guy I delivered to answered the door wearing only his boxer-briefs. Not exactly a pleasant sight. A little while later, I delivered to a hotel room, and the guy apparently thought we would take longer than we did, because I caught him in the shower. In fact, I was about to leave when he opened the door covered only in soap and one of those too small hotel towels. As I walked back to my car I thought, “So that’s how it’s going to go today, huh? Well, if I have to deliver to undressed people, why can’t they at least be attractive women instead of dudes?” Then, before I could even chide myself for that thought, I remembered the last thing I prayed for before I began my day. I prayed that God would protect me from temptation. He sure answered that one with a resounding YES! There was NO temptation involved in what I saw that day, let me tell you. It wasn’t exactly pleasant, nor was it what I had in mind, but God did protect me from temptation that day.

That reminded me that sometimes God does things for our own good that isn’t exactly pleasant at the moment. An example would be James 1:2-4:

“Count it all joy, my brethren, when you fall into manifold temptations knowing that the proving of your faith works patience. And let patience have its perfect work, that you may be perfect and entire, lacking in nothing.”

The only way to receive patience is to go through trials. You don’t get callouses on your hands without first getting blisters and you don’t get patience/steadfastness without going through trials. A Christian can’t be complete or perfect as God wants him without patience. This is why James says that trials should be met with rejoicing: they are the only path to being a complete Christian. But they are not pleasant at the time.

The best passage to explain what I am talking about is in Hebrews 12. The anonymous writer is explaining that God will chastise His children as necessary to make them better. He uses earthly fathers as an example, saying we still honor our dads even though they chastised us as they saw fit, so we should surely honor God during chastisement since He actually knows what He is doing and is doing it specifically for our good. He sums it up with this:

Heb. 12:11 “All chastening seems for the present to be not joyous but grievous; yet afterward it yields peaceable fruit unto them that have been exercised thereby, even the fruit of righteousness.”

God, in His perfect wisdom and perfect love, will send us trials and tribulations and chastisements to cause us to grow into perfection. The plan is for our good, but boy, does it not feel good when we are going through it! Chastening is never pleasant when it happens. Grievous is a good description. It is for our ultimate good, though, and if we have faith that God truly loves us, we should count it all joy when those chastenings come. They prove that God is still not done with us. That He thinks we are worth the effort, present evidence to the contrary.

We often cite Romans 8:28 (“we know that to them that love God all things work together for good”) but do we understand it? It doesn’t mean we will always be happy here on Earth. It means that God is making sure things work out best for us, i.e. that we get to Heaven to be with Him. Combine Rom. 8:28 with Heb. 12:11 and we understand that, while the present chastening may not be fun, the end result will “work together for good”. This destroys the idea that some have that “God wants me to be happy.” You know, when you show them in the scriptures that they aren’t living their lives right, that according to God’s word, not my judgments, they are sinning and they say, “I know, but God would want me to be happy,” it is as if their happiness outweighs the eternal word of God. I think, based on James 1:2-4, Hebrews 12:4-11, and Romans 8:28 among other passages, that God doesn’t care a whit whether we are happy on this planet or not. Look at the list of the heroes of faith at the end of Hebrews 11 and tell me how many of them seemed happy. God wants us to be joyous in eternity. God wants us to be glorified with Him in eternity. God wants to commune with us in eternity. If it takes unhappiness, if it takes trials, tribulations, chastenings, and sacrifices (and delivering pizza to nearly naked men) to accomplish that, then so be it.

I hope God grants me the strength of faith to be able to count it joy when trials come, because I’d much rather be unhappy for 70 years or so and joyous in eternity than ecstatic in this life and in Hell for eternity.
 
Lucas Ward

What do you do when someone you love is in the middle of a crisis?  Prayer is probably the first thing that comes to mind, but after considering this awhile, I realize that a few other things must come before that.

              First we need to get our lives in order.  The effectual fervent prayer of the righteous avails much, we are told in James 5:16.  If you really care about the ones you are praying for, nothing will keep you from making sure you live a righteous life.  None of us can be righteous by being perfect, but we can all be made righteous by forgiveness.  Usually the only thing standing in the way of that is pride, and pride will form a ceiling past which your prayers cannot travel.  If I regard iniquity in my heart, the Lord will not hear, David wrote in Psa 66:18.  Whatever needs fixing in your life, first get on your knees and fix yourself before you even try to pray for anyone else.

              That one was obvious.  This one not so much.  God will never hear the prayers of a grudge-holder.  So if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go. First be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift, Matt 5:23-24.  Adam Clarke says, “A religion, the very essence of which is love, cannot suffer at its altars a heart that is revengeful and uncharitable, or which does not use its utmost endeavors to revive love in the heart of another.” 

                Do you know the easiest way to fix this problem?  Stop wearing your feelings on your coatsleeves.  Stop being so easily offended and insulted.  Stop seeing the worst in everything anyone says or does toward you.  Love “does not keep account of evil,” Paul says in 1 Cor 13:5.  “Love covers a multitude of sins,” Peter reminds us in 1 Pet 4:8.  If we weren’t so quick to make something out of every little thing that comes along, maybe more of our prayers would be heard.  “First be reconciled,” Jesus said.  There is a definite order to these things. 

              And the last thing I thought of?  I need to stop distracting those who are praying about this huge crisis with my own petty problems.  I know that it is impossible to overwhelm God—He can handle as many problems as we feel compelled to send his way.  But his people can be overwhelmed.  They can be distracted.  Feeling emotionally swamped can paralyze you, and keep you from the service that others desperately need.  The shepherds shouldn’t have to take time putting band-aids on boo-boos when a couple of other sheep need CPR. 

              So, just for now, while the crisis looms, you and God handle your problems, and God and I will handle mine.  God and even just one of his children are more than a match for any one or any thing.  When any crisis is at hand--I must be aware of priorities, and do my best not to cause other problems.  “Act like a man!” Paul told the Corinthians.  “Man up!” is the current way of putting it, or just, “Grow up!”  During a crisis the last thing the people of God need is someone raising a fuss or whining for attention. 

              I have a friend whom I have known since before I was even old enough to know her.  She needs the prayers and the undivided attention of the saints right now.  I do not want to be the one who fails her.
 
Then Hezekiah turned his face to the wall and prayed to the LORD, saying, "Now, O LORD, please remember how I have walked before you in faithfulness and with a whole heart, and have done what is good in your sight." And Hezekiah wept bitterly. And before Isaiah had gone out of the middle court, the word of the LORD came to him: "Turn back, and say to Hezekiah the leader of my people, Thus says the LORD, the God of David your father: I have heard your prayer; I have seen your tears. Behold, I will heal you…2 Kings 20:2-5.
 
Dene Ward

A few weeks ago we piled into the car and headed off for town.  As we reached the western end of the driveway, we saw a stack of pine limbs, 12-15 feet long and still green, as if someone had simply cut them off and laid them there.  Keith stopped the car and stared .

              "What happened here?"

              We went over it together.  I had been by the spot late the afternoon before and seen only the usual foot high field of grass shaded from the afternoon sun by the line of oaks and wild cherries along the west fence.  We had a few gray clouds that evening, as we do nearly every afternoon and evening in the summer, and maybe a quick shower, but no thunderstorm.  Once the evening deepened into pure night, all was still and warm and humid—nothing unusual at all.  It may be five acres, but the distance from the house near the eastern side and the pines on the west is not really that far.  How had this happened without us knowing it?

            Obviously, a small eddy had blown through the pines, and sixty feet above ground it was stronger than you might imagine had you been standing beneath.  I have seen those eddies before.  Sometimes they stir up the dust out in the field where there is no shelter from the trees, but where the trees are thick, they stay aloft.  For it to tear large green limbs meant it was a strong one, but also localized.  Spread out it would not have done any damage.  And so it left us with a neat pile of limbs that Keith hauled to the fire pit for the coming fall.

              When these eye crises first began to hit me, my whole world turned upside down.  I couldn't keep house or cook, I couldn't teach Bible classes, and I had to close my music studio.  Eventually I missed three months of assemblies because of the pain and the appointments and the surgeries and the medication schedule.  When I did make it back and the announcements began I had a bad moment or two.  That week was a baby shower.  The next week was a wedding.  In two weeks was a potluck.  My poor little me self said, "How can they keep on having fun like this?  Don't they know my world is a shambles?"

              Of course that didn't last, but it did come to the surface.  When you are having your own personal storm, you wonder how anyone else can remain unaffected.  Don't they see how miserable you are and how dire the situation?  Don't they care anything about you at all?  Something selfish inside you wants everyone to cry with you.  Maybe that's where the old saying comes from:  Misery loves company.  I was having my own little storm in a localized area and it wasn't affecting anyone downwind.  Or so it felt.

              Okay, so where do we go with this?  First, I am reminded of the injunction to "Rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep" (Rom 12:15).  We are all to share in one another's burdens.  If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together. (1Cor 12:26).  Remember those who are in prison, as though in prison with them, and those who are mistreated, since you also are in the body (Heb 13:3).  Knowing that others care about what is happening to you makes the trials somewhat easier to bear. 

              But there is always, as I said above, the selfishness that must be overcome.  I may be having a storm in my life.  That does not mean that anyone who does not know about it and act like the same storm is ruling their lives doesn't care.  Too many times we act like we have been specially set up to judge others in how they offer their compassion and help.  If it doesn't come when I want and the way I want, they are unloving.  And that of course, can lead to the excuse so many use for leaving the church.  "You didn't come visit me when I was in the hospital.  The elders didn't call, the preacher didn't hold my hand and pray over me, none of the members sent me a card."  Yet, when pressed in the matter you will usually find out one of two things:  the problem wasn't ignored; it was unknown because it was not shared.  Somehow everyone should just "know"—if I have to say anything, they aren't caring enough.  Or, "no one" is a gross exaggeration.

              And it also insinuates that because no one helped me the way I expected and thought they ought to, that I am now excused for any bad behavior.  For because he himself has suffered when tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted. (Heb 2:18).  That passage seems to imply that one of the purposes of suffering is so we can learn to help others who are also suffering.  That's what it did for the Lord I claim to be following.  I am supposed to be learning something here, not judging others.  And if I really do learn it, then it becomes my responsibility to do better than the ones I think left me high and dry--not castigating them or using them as an excuse for my own bad conduct, but showing them the way.

              Once my mind cleared that morning, I knew that others were affected by my storm.  They came in droves with hugs, welcoming me back to the assembly.  They had sent me off to difficult surgeries with hugs and money in my pockets for the expenses.  They had fasted and prayed during my scariest operation.  They had taken turns carrying me back and forth to the doctor after Keith ran out of leave time to do it.  That is usually the case when you let your brothers and sisters know your needs, when you share your fears and troubles.  If no one knows you are in a storm, that's your fault entirely.  Don't let a few moments of self-absorption steal the joy of brotherhood.
 
Bear one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ. (Gal 6:2)
 
Dene Ward

Last year we made a distressing discovery—the seam sealing tape on the rain fly to our tent had come loose.  Unfortunately, we made this discovery in the middle of the night during a driving rainstorm when water suddenly began pouring on us as we lay in our sleeping bags.

              So before our latest camping trip, we pulled out the fly and set about resealing the tape.  We found out that not all the tape had come undone, just the places where more stress was put on the fly—at the staking points and over the top where it stretched tightly across the tent poles.  I suppose that makes sense.  After all, where is it that your pants are more likely to rip but where and when you stretch those seams the most?  In the back when you bend over.

              That brought to mind the disciples’ request for the Lord to “Increase our faith.”  I had always thought of this as a simple request, sort of a “Help me get better” generic prayer.  Suddenly I thought to check the context.  Maybe there was a reason for the request, maybe those men were under some sort of stress.  So I looked up Luke 17:5 and checked the verses immediately ahead of that one.

              Stress?  Jesus had just given them a laundry list of commands that would have stressed anyone out.

              “Temptation is sure to come,” he begins in verse 1.  Not “may come” or even “will probably come,” but “sure to come.”  If ever a Christian feels stress it is during temptation.  Yes, I think I might need increased faith to handle those times. 

              Then he goes on to talk about those who cause others to stumble.  I suppose nothing stresses me out more than worrying about how what I say or do may affect others, especially since I teach and write so much.  Yes, I need more faith to keep teaching and keep writing, especially when I receive negative reactions or hear of someone who misused what I have said, and even more when I realize I have made a careless word choice.

              Then Jesus tells them to forgive, even if the same person does the same thing over and over and over and over.  This is where, in an almost comedic outcry, we hear them shout, “Lord!  Increase our faith!”  As often as those same men misunderstood and failed to comprehend Jesus’ teaching, they certainly understood the need for faith when it comes to mercy and forgiveness.  We really haven’t reached the pinnacle of that Divine trait until we can say, “I forgive you,” without adding or even thinking, “Again.”

              Look up the other places where we are told to strengthen or increase or add to our faith and you will discover other areas of stress that could trip you up—times when divisions occur, when sinful desires rear their ugly heads, when we need to love the unlovable, when we are told to obey whether we understand it or not.  All of these things can create stress in our lives, and endanger our souls.

              “Pay attention to yourselves,” Jesus told those men in the midst of his teaching (v 3).  Don’t be caught unawares in the middle of a storm.  “Increase your faith” and so be prepared. 
 
We ought always to give thanks to God for you, brothers, as is right, because your faith is growing abundantly, and the love of every one of you for one another is increasing. Therefore we ourselves boast about you in the churches of God for your steadfastness and faith in all your persecutions and in the afflictions that you are enduring. This is evidence of the righteous judgment of God, that you may be considered worthy of the kingdom of God, for which you are also suffering-- 2 Thessalonians 1:3-5.   
 
Dene Ward