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

In case you don't really understand Irma's magnitude, from east to west, it was 650 miles wide—the Florida peninsula averages 130 miles in width.  15,000,000 people in Florida alone were without power.  25% of the homes in Key West were completely destroyed, another 65% incurred major damage.  70,000 sq miles were impacted by at least tropical storm force winds.  The highest winds recorded were 185 mph.  That speed was maintained for 37 straight hours.  Over six million Floridians were told to evacuate.  Another few million did so voluntarily.  The score calculated by the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) when measuring the power of hurricanes was 66.8, compared to 11.1 for Hurricane Harvey, and we all watched the devastation from that one (statistics from "Breaking Down Irma by the Numbers" on architecturaldigest.com).

              That is what we Floridians had to look forward to as Irma approached our coasts.  In the past we have had Category 2 and 3 storms hit the coast and, by the time they reached us, diminish to Category 1 or even mere tropical storm force (which is not as "mere" as it sounds when you are in the middle of it).  This one was to hit as a 5.  Everyone told us it would still be a 3 by the time it reached us.  That is why we counted our home as lost, carefully packing what was most important to us in the car and truck and moving them as far from the trees as we could, out into the field. 

              That is also why we spent the night that Irma came through in the car.  Would the car be blown over with us in it?  Possibly.  But far better that than being crushed under a thousand pound limb falling on the house, or being injured or maimed by the flying glass and debris when the roof blew off.  So as darkness fell and the wind and rain picked up, we scampered out to the car and climbed inside. 

              The backseat was crammed with a cooler and two boxes, so lowering the seat backs for a better sleeping position was minimal.  We clasped hands and said our final "together" prayer, and then did our best to go to sleep, which amounted to me being quiet for Keith, who was being quiet for me, as both of us sat/lay there with our eyes wide open, each praying our own continuous private prayer all night long.

              We had left the porch light on for our trip out into the field.  We are used to utter darkness out here in the country, no traffic lights, street lamps, or passing headlights, so that light was intrusive, but it also gave us a small sense of security.  Imagining what was going on would have been much worse.  Finally we both drifted off out of sheer exhaustion from the days of preparation before as well as a cold we had shared that week, and when I woke again I had to use the flashlight to see my watch.  It was 2:30 and the porch light was out.

              We had no idea what was happening, where the storm was, how strong it was.  Several times in the night, the wind howled a bit more loudly and the car rocked.  What surprised me was that behind those thick clouds a full moon actually filtered through, casting a soft gray light and it was no longer black as pitch as it had been earlier.  Still, we could not tell what was happening.

              After a couple of hours we drifted back off again, rocking in our metal cradle.  At seven, almost as if an alarm had gone off, we both opened our eyes to dim daylight.  We looked out the rain-dribbled windshield and saw a 35 year old manufactured home all in one piece.  No debris, no missing roof, no broken windows.  Lots of yard trash, but no monster limbs crushing anything.  Keith got out into the rain to start up the generator and I flipped on the car radio.  The storm had weakened much more quickly than expected.  If it passed over Gainesville as a Category 1, by the time it reached us, it was to the west and down to tropical storm force winds. 

              Keith came back for me then, and we rolled up our pant legs.  The waters were running off all around us nearly six to eight inches deep as the property drained, but we stood there and hugged each other and shouted a thank you over the slackening wind and rain, tears running down our faces.  God had answered all those prayers, and if you think one thank you was all He got from us, you still don't understand hurricanes and the One who made them.  Even now, over a month later, we are still saying thank you.

              And what did we learn from that?  A question popped up in our minds.  How many times have we said thank you for the sacrifice our Lord made to save our souls in the same fashion we said thank you for his saving our physical home, and a humble one at that?  How many times have we grabbed each other in pure, unadulterated joy and wept real tears over our salvation?  Once, maybe, at our baptism; another time or two when a particular sermon or talk hit us right between the eyes.

              We've been mulling that over for several weeks now.  I hope this week has helped you consider it, too.
 
Thanks be to God for his unspeakable gift. (2Cor 9:15)
 
Dene Ward

I remember thinking once when I stepped into my sons' bedroom and saw toys lying everywhere, "It looks like a whirlwind came through here."  Actually it didn't look half that bad.

              When daylight dawned after Irma blew through, the mess was astounding.  Trees had fallen across roads—huge water oaks bigger around than your kitchen table, pine trees taller than telephone poles, or enormous, tree-sized limbs from the live oaks.  Branches, limbs, moss and other air plants, brushwood and smaller sprigs of leaves, all lay across yards and fields.  For some folks shingles littered their property, for others pieces of eaves and white aluminum roof-overs lay twisted across the grass.  For still others, siding and whole roofs lay torn and scattered by the winds.  You could tell where the tornadoes had plowed through—trees lay in every direction like a pile of pickup sticks, their branches stripped bare of leaves.

              The clean-up started immediately.  First order of business was to start the generator so we didn't lose the thousand dollars' worth of food in the freezer and fridge.  It also gave us a couple of outlets for a lamp and a fan.  Then we set up the camp stove on the porch to avoid heating up an un-coolable house, and started the stovetop coffeepot.  After a quick breakfast , it was time to get to work.

             We tried to contact family.  For some reason we had a phone for a few minutes that morning and were able to reach our boys and my mother.  All were well and undamaged.  Then the landline went out and cell service was spotty and downright weird.  My phone kept trying to call out by itself, but of course, it couldn't.  Even on a good day I can only get one bar out here and only next to one window in the house.  Though we had those few outlets next to the fridge and freezer due to the generator, my cell would not charge.  We lost it completely the third day. 

            Then it was time to check on neighbors.  We had heard the whine and rev of chainsaws earlier in the day, and because of them we were able to get down the highway, which was covered in sawdust from the tree and limb removal.  Everyone looked all right so we headed back to our own mess.

           And what do you do?  First, you haul in the water.  Heavy five gallon buckets, one next to each toilet for flushes, trying your best not to slosh it on the laminate floors.  They don't much like pools of water.

            Then you unpack.  All those things we had placed in the truck and car were unloaded, unpacked and put back into place.  Then we started on the outside.

             Keith swept off the roof, which was carpeted with twigs and leaves, and the carport which sat covered in an inch of blown-in water, and caked with mud on the edges.  We toweled off the outdoor furniture and unlashed the garbage cans.  We put the bird feeders back on their poles and filled them up.  Then came the hard part.

            Our garden cart holds about 10 cubic feet, Keith thinks, at least 6 five gallon buckets.  We filled it up half again as high as the walls sixteen times as we traversed the yard, back and forth for two days.  Bend over, lift, and drop; bend over, lift and drop.  Over and over and over until our backs ached and our heads swam from the changing height.  The temperature was slightly better than a usual September day in Florida—88 maybe instead of 93, but the humidity was nearly 100% from all the water everywhere.  It has been my experience with people that you really don't understand that until you have lived in it.  We were without an air conditioner for 9 days.  The doors swelled and became difficult to open and close.  The salt became one huge block, even in those "guaranteed" plastic sealed containers.  The dining chair backs were sticky in our hands and the table was covered with condensation every morning.  The only way to get the bath towels dried out between uses was to hang them in direct sunlight for several hours, praying for a good stiff breeze.  And that's why 88 felt more like 98 and we wound up soaking wet.

             But remember what I said about the usual September day down here?  Normally the 90s don't leave us before October, and even then we might have a day or two when they return, all the way till November, with a heat index over 100.  Yet I have noticed that after every hurricane we get a little break.  A day in the 80s was a reprieve we all needed.  And the weather continued that way for 3 or 4 days before the 90s began to show up again.  By then, for us, the brutal outdoor work was done. 

             I thought of the rainbow then, the one after the flood.  God gave them a sign that such a catastrophe would never happen again.  We know we will have more hurricanes, but we also know that God is aware of our needs.  Maybe those more moderate temperatures are His way of showing us that He cares.  We may be hurt by the warnings He has sent to a people who continually reject Him, but He will still show His mercy in ways that only the righteous may be able to understand.  For me, it led to far less griping about the inconveniences—no power, no running water, no means of communication.  It could have been so much worse, and for others it was, especially in the Caribbean, the Keys and South Florida.  But they, too, felt the cooler air for at least awhile, whether they acknowledged who sent it or not.

            God never promised to keep the storms of life away from us, but He has always promised to be with us as we endure them.
 
​For you have been a stronghold to the poor, a stronghold to the needy in his distress, a shelter from the storm and a shade from the heat…(Isa 25:4)
 
Dene Ward

We woke Sunday, September 10, to the bluster of a nor'easter blowing in from the Atlantic to our east off the Jacksonville coast.  The wind tore at the tops of the trees and rain splattered against the house.  "Is this Irma?" I wondered at first, even though I knew it was too early, and soon discovered what it actually was.  From then on, things just got worse as Irma did approach us from the south.  Traffic on the highway ceased.  Children's voices as they played outside stopped.  I have never heard complete silence around this place.  Even before so many others moved in, something was always chirping, tweeting or crowing, mooing, bawling, or screeching.  But not that afternoon.  The birds knew what lay ahead, as did the animals.  Perhaps they even heard what I could not.

              Finally in the darkness we heard her come.  Rain didn't patter on the metal roof, it roared.  It came cruising across the field one white sheet at a time, crashing against the sides of the house like a giant had thrown an equally gigantic bucket of water against us.  It never came straight down.

              Then the winds began to out-roar the rain.  It seemed to start three or four sections over and come closer and closer and closer until it suddenly slammed us, only to start again.  That's when the whumps and thumps started.  The first time it was a limb, as big around as a man's thigh and about 8 feet long.  It missed the house.  The next time it was a slightly smaller limb and further from the house.  The third time it was a clatter as a green branch, the looks and size of a shrub hit the carport roof and bounced off. 

              It continued all night.  The house creaked, the metal screeched, and occasionally something we thought we had secured fell over or slid in the wind.  At 1:10 AM the lights flashed four times, but stayed on.  At 2:30 they went out completely.

              With all that going on, we did not get much sleep that night, but as the morning hours began to dawn, we both finally slept the sleep of exhaustion, hours of preparation and tension both bringing us at least a couple hours of rest.  We woke at 7 when the gray light finally gave us a view of the results.  And then the sounds completely changed.

              Chainsaws started almost immediately, clearing fallen trees from highways and driveways.  Generators roared to life all around us.  It isn't that we live that close to our neighbors, but generators are notoriously noisy monsters.  Big utility trucks rumbled by on the highways, surveying the damage and planning how to fix it.

              We got in the truck and tootled down the highway to check on our neighbors.  We passed mounds of sawdust where fallen trees had already been removed and then came to the Olustee Creek and heard another new sound—water lapping over the bridge.  It became apparent then that this would be a flood like we had never seen in our 35 years here.  Within a day the bridges over the Santa Fe River were inundated and round hay bales in normally dry fields bobbed like corks in the swelling currents.

              And gradually things returned to normal.  By September 12, the birds were back, tweeting in what seemed like joy, flitting through our trees in numbers larger than we had ever seen.  I filled the feeders and they came to celebrate with us—cardinals, chickadees, doves, titmice, blue jays and woodpeckers, and even a wild turkey that sauntered over from the woods to check out the remains of our now scraggly garden.  The storm that had taken so many days to arrive and had flummoxed so many meteorologists as to its path was finally over.

              It seems like nowadays everyone has something stuck in their ears.  If it isn't an earbud, it's a phone.  And at home, we seem afraid to let there be silence in our lives.  The television is always on, or the radio, or the stereo.  I wonder how many people hear what is happening in their world.  I wonder how many were completely freaked out by the things they heard when the power died.  This is life, people.   This is what you are missing. 

              Hearing is important.  Just ask my husband who began losing his at 24 and had his first hearing aid at 27.  Now labeled "profoundly deaf," he can no longer hear when the engine makes a funny noise in the car and assess it.  He cannot hear the smoke alarm or the ringing telephone.  We cannot whisper at night when the lights are out.  Once it's dark and he can no longer read my lips, we're done.  He would have loved to hear his children's voices and understood what they were saying.   And here the world goes, deafening itself to the sounds the Creator gave us to help us, to protect us, even to save us.

              And the Spirit bade me go with them, making no distinction. And these six brethren also accompanied me; and we entered into the man's house: and he told us how he had seen the angel standing in his house, and saying, Send to Joppa, and fetch Simon, whose surname is Peter; who shall speak unto you words, whereby you shall be saved, you and all your house. (Acts 11:12-14)

              So faith comes from hearing, and hearing through the word of Christ. (Rom 10:17)

              It isn't just modern electronics that steal our hearing, it's the machinations of Satan who lies to us, who uses our culture and our selfishness against us.  That passage in Romans is followed by something we need to hear as well.  "Haven't they heard?  Yes, they have.  Didn't they understand?" but the answer to the problem is given in verse 20:  All day long I have held my hands out to a disobedient and contrary people."

              Open your ears to the Word of God and listen.  Those verses may have been said about the Jews, but that doesn't mean they cannot be true about us as well.
 
“Come, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and he who has no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. ​Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy? Listen diligently to me, and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food. Incline your ear, and come to me; hear, that your soul may live; and I will make with you an everlasting covenant, my steadfast, sure love for David. (Isa 55:1-3)
 
Dene Ward

Six days before Irma arrived, we stood in line at Publix with our usual week's worth of groceries.  It was 8 AM on a Tuesday.  Behind us a lady guarded her cart like a Doberman, a cart crammed and stacked with as many cases of water bottles as it would hold.  In the aisle next to us another did the same.

              The next day nearly every store of every type in town was out of bottled water.  We had to stop at one of them and a lady stood shouting frantically into her phone, "They're totally out!  What are we going to do?" 
After she hung up, Keith offered, "Ma'am?  There is still plenty of water from the tap in your kitchen sink."

                Which is exactly what we did—pull the 7 or 8 clean, empty gallon milk jugs that we keep in the shed and fill them up, along with my umpteen-quart pressure canner for drinking water and tooth brushing.  Then we filled a dozen five gallon buckets outside, plus a forty gallon barrel to use for flushes, baths, and dishwashing.  All we had to do was filter them through a cloth to get our dirt and leaves when it was time to use them. 

               I have never seen Florida prepare for a hurricane like she did for Irma.  Maybe it was the pictures coming out of Houston from hurricane Harvey a few weeks before.  Maybe it was the 185 mph winds.  Or maybe it was the sheer size of the storm.  At one point it covered the whole state except for the far western panhandle.

               I have never seen so many empty shelves in the stores.  I haven't seen long lines at the gas pumps since the gas shortage of the 1970s.  I have certainly never seen the National Guard handling those long lines when only one station out of 5 was open at an exit, the waiting cars trailing back down the off-ramp to the interstate itself.  I have never seen the evacuations, with the interstate at one point being opened to northbound traffic on both sides.

             "This is the one we never wanted to see," I heard more than one meteorologist say.  "You'd better prepare, Florida."  And prepare she did, all 21 million of her.

              And somewhere along the way I couldn't help but wonder, "Shouldn't we be preparing for the Lord this way?"  You may think you have plenty of time, but listen—for you, the Lord comes the day you die.  Once your life here is over, there are no second chances.

              And that life can end in a flash.  I have lost two cousins to automobile accidents, one in his 20s and the other at 16.  I have lost several close friends to disease in their 40s and 50s.  You just never know.

             And then there is this:  every day the Lord doesn't come is a day closer to the day He will.  And just like Irma finally arrived, so will He.

             Be prepared.
 
“Then the kingdom of heaven will be like ten virgins who took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish, and five were wise. For when the foolish took their lamps, they took no oil with them, but the wise took flasks of oil with their lamps. As the bridegroom was delayed, they all became drowsy and slept. But at midnight there was a cry, ‘Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him.’ Then all those virgins rose and trimmed their lamps. And the foolish said to the wise, ‘Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.’ But the wise answered, saying, ‘Since there will not be enough for us and for you, go rather to the dealers and buy for yourselves.’ And while they were going to buy, the bridegroom came, and those who were ready went in with him to the marriage feast, and the door was shut. Afterward the other virgins came also, saying, ‘Lord, lord, open to us.’ ​But he answered, ‘Truly, I say to you, I do not know you.’ ​Watch therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour. (Matt 25:1-13)
 
Dene Ward

The first in a five part series that will appear every morning this week.

When you live in Florida, and probably anywhere in the Caribbean and along the Gulf Coast, you keep an eye on the weather from June 1 till November 30—hurricane season.  My earliest memory of hurricanes was Donna in 1960.  The next was Alma in 1966.  I know there were others that made a Florida landfall, Cleo and Dora, for instance, in 1964, Betsy in 65, and Inez in 66, but they must not have affected my very young life.  After that, we lived in Tampa which did not have a major hit for nearly 100 years, or so I recently heard.

              As a newlywed, we lived out of state for five years so I was hardly aware of Agnes in 72 and Eloise in 75, which created a 12-16 foot storm surge from Panama City to Ft Walton Beach.  Then we moved back to Florida and suddenly hurricanes were a fact of life again, one made more real because of the two little boys we now had to protect. 

              There was Elena in 85, which sent us to our first evacuation shelter.  Andrew in 92 was the one that really opened our eyes to the danger of hurricanes.  Good thing because Florida landfalls picked up suddenly after his arrival.  Gordon in 94 whipped around and made a U-turn, hitting Florida twice.  Erin in 95 followed suit with two landfalls in the state and then Opal arrived only a few weeks afterward with catastrophic damage.  Georges wiped out the Keys in 98 and Floyd came along the east coast in 99, giving us all a good scare.  Then 2004 brought four hurricanes over the state in only a few weeks—Charlie, Frances, Jeanne, and Ivan, which actually made its first landfall in Alabama, wiping out the Florida panhandle which sat on its dangerous eastern side, then crossing the southeast, heading back into the Atlantic, and traveling down to cross South Florida.  And those are just the highlights.

              So when Irma came rolling off the coast of Africa we kept an eye on her all the way across the Atlantic and into the Caribbean.  We watched as she grew from a tropical wave into a depression into a storm and finally into a hurricane.  We watched while her winds increased daily, peaking out at 185 mph—category 5.

              They kept telling us it would turn north—first, in time to miss the mainland altogether, then in time to miss Florida and bounce off the Carolinas, then in time to plow into Georgia.  Then we were told that Miami would take a direct hit and Irma would skirt our eastern coast and off to the northeast Atlantic.  Then the forecast moved west a bit, with this recalcitrant hurricane forecast to come straight up the spine of the state as a category 5.  By then she was really close, so that is what we had to plan for.

              If you have seen those Saffir-Simpson animations, you know what a category 5 will do to a house—destroy it.  That's what a category 2 will do to a mobile home.  We have lived in a doublewide "manufactured home" for 35 years.  Obviously we've taken care of it—a roofover, siding, skirting, hurricane tie-downs that were up to code at the time.  The inside has been practically rebuilt as the years passed and we saved enough money to do so.  But we were still facing the real possibility—probability—of losing it all.  That only took into consideration the winds, not the massive live oaks that spread their branches over us and make our air conditioning bill manageable.  Any one branch of those trees could destroy the house.

              And so we had some decisions to make.  What if we lost it all?  What would we try to save?  It surprised me how little it was.

              We packed a suitcase each of basics:  jeans, tees, underwear and socks, and a couple pairs of shoes.  After a hurricane there is neither time nor inclination for dressing up.  We packed photo albums, bank account ledgers and checks, 2 back-up thumb drives of files on the computer.

              We filled a box with our Bibles and all the notes from every class either of us has ever taught.  I added the September schedule for this blog in case I could find a way to keep it going.  Then we added probably a dozen books that were special to us, less than 5% of the total number we own.

              We are experienced campers.  If the house was destroyed, we planned to use the tent as housing until something permanent could be arranged.  So we packed a cooler, paper plates, paper towels, and cloth towels—things that needed to stay dry.  We figured we could find the rest of our camping gear in the debris.

              Everything we packed fit into the covered bed of the pickup, the trunk of the car, and its backseat. 

              I remember thinking, "We know that someday we will have to leave this place and downsize and we wondered what we would keep.  I guess we just found out."

              Keith nearly echoed my thoughts after our day of packing.  "We started from scratch 43 years ago.  We can do it again."

              There was a sadness about it, yes, and I shed a few tears, but that was all the time I had for that nonsense.  Irma was coming and time was short.  We had prayed for her demise for weeks and continued to for 24 more long hours.  But there was also a sense of acceptance as she came closer and closer.  When you pray, "Thy will be done," there must be, or it isn't really faith.
 
I hear, and my body trembles; my lips quiver at the sound; rottenness enters into my bones; my legs tremble beneath me. Yet I will quietly wait for the day of trouble to come... Though the fig tree should not blossom, nor fruit be on the vines, the produce of the olive fail and the fields yield no food, the flock be cut off from the fold and there be no herd in the stalls, ​yet I will rejoice in the LORD; I will take joy in the God of my salvation. GOD, the Lord, is my strength; he makes my feet like the deer's; he makes me tread on my high places... (Hab 3:16-19). 

Dene Ward

Then Elijah became afraid and immediately ran for his life. When he came to Beer-sheba that belonged to Judah, he left his servant there, but he went on a day’s journey into the wilderness. He sat down under a broom tree and prayed that he might die. He said, “I have had enough! LORD, take my life, for I’m no better than my fathers.” Then he lay down and slept under the broom tree…” (1Kgs 19:3-5)

              If you don't recognize the citation above, it's probably because you have made the same mistake everyone else does.  You have read the account of the contest on Mt Carmel and simply stopped at the end of the 18th chapter of 1 Kings.  You have exulted in the victory Elijah won and left it at that.  Which means you missed this:  it wasn't a victory after all.  Yes, Elijah thought it was too, but as soon as he got home from his God-assisted sprint to Jezreel, he found out otherwise.  All that had happened was the temporary pumping up of a people who lived only in the passion of the moment.  The passion faded almost immediately.  Jezebel was still in control and Elijah was threatened and running for his life.  Nothing had changed!

              What a letdown.  If his flashy victory couldn't save the people, what could?  And so he fell into a deep depression.  "Just let me die, God," he requests, and lies down to sleep.

              The point this morning is not the answer to why the big show didn't work.  See "Pep Rally Religion" for that.  The point this morning is something much more practical.  Times of depression are normal.  They do not mean you are weak.  If ever there was a spiritually strong man of God, it was Elijah.  Yet he, too, fell prey to low morale.

              "Look at all I've done.  I've tried and tried and I am a failure.  I am all alone.  No one cares.  Why should I bother?" (19:4)

              Tell me you haven't had those moments.  Well, you are in good company.  So what was the problem?

              First, he was counting on the wrong thing.  He made a big splashy show, thinking it would turn the people around.  Yes, they may have chanted "Jehovah he is God" 17 times or more, but it didn't last past the rainstorm.  Passion always diminishes.  It cannot be maintained at a fever pitch.  It will simply wear you out.  If passion is the basis of your faith, you are in for a big fall, probably sooner rather than later.

              Second, he focused only on himself.  For those brief moments, a man who had spent his life serving God and reaching out to others, turned his attention inward and forgot the point of it all. "I'm a failure.  I'm no better than my fathers." Paul reminded the Corinthians that he planted, and Apollos watered, but it was God who gave the increase.  We aren't to worry about results. That's God's business.  We just keep working.

              And third, just as it always does, depression became pessimism and pessimism became cynicism, and those things steal your hope.  "I'm the only one left."  Nonsense.  What about Obadiah and the 100 prophets that faithful man had hidden from Jezebel?  It had only been a few days since he and Obadiah had spoken about it.  Surely he knew of others.  He had to for God to be able to speak of a symbolic 7000 who "have not bowed their knee to Baal" and not be overstating the matter.

              So God asks Elijah the question in our title:  "What are you doing here?"  He's a few hundred miles from Samaria, the capital of the people he is supposed to be preaching to, and in an unpopulated wilderness where he cannot serve anyone at all.  So God sends him back.  Get busy doing my work, He tells Elijah.  And there was plenty left to do.  You are most certainly NOT the only one left, God reminds him.  Stop feeling sorry for yourself and trust me, just like you always did before.

              Obviously we are not talking about mental illness or clinical depression.  But sometimes that ordinary old down in the dumps feeling can seem just as bad.  It's normal in the ups and downs of life to feel like that—once in a while.  Even strong people have those days.  But the cure is the same every day, whether you are in the doldrums or out of them.  Concentrate on serving God and serving others.  Stop feeling sorry for yourself.  God doesn't.  He let Elijah get some rest, then fed him, and finally, taught him the lesson of the power in the "still, small voice" of His Word rather than big splashy shows.  "It isn't your power—it's mine that accomplishes things.  Trust me."  Then He said, "Get to work!" (19:5-18).

              If you're feeling a little blue today, read 1 Kings 17-19.  When you see it in someone else, it's easier to see how ridiculous it all is.  Get some rest, nourish your body, and then do like Elijah and get back to work.  God may even have a chariot waiting for you someday.
 
Lord, they have killed Your prophets and torn down Your altars. I am the only one left, and they are trying to take my life! But what was God’s reply to him? I have left 7,000 men for Myself who have not bowed down to Baal. In the same way, then, there is also at the present time a remnant chosen by grace. (Rom 11:3-5)
 
Dene Ward

Our last camping trip sent me home with legs chapped to a medium rare pink, an abrasion ring around both ankles from my trail shoes rubbing on the heavy wool socks, and dry, crackly lips and nostrils.  Did I say it was cold?  The rangers told us to leave the spigot dripping and the first morning we woke to a foot tall column of ice beneath it. 

              The forecast the week before did not prepare us for that weather.  It was only when we were on our way that it changed.  So why did we keep going rather than turning back?  Because if we hadn’t I would have missed waking to a couple of wrens serenading one another in the trees over our tent every morning.  I would never have marveled at a dry floodplain studded with knobby cypress knees, and carpeted in white rain lilies and patches of bright yellow marsh marigolds.  I never would have seen the family of deer traipsing through the woods ahead of us, then literally hightailing it off when they caught sight of our movements, white flag tails bouncing in the woodland shadows.

              Sometimes being a Christian, like camping, is filled with all sorts of trials, everything from the triviality of abrasion rings on the ankles to greater problems of becoming lost in the woods and wondering if you will find your way out before you freeze to death in the cold night.  But God tells us over and over that it is worth it.  You will never have the experiences you have as a Christian any other way.

              There is something almost magical about walking into a meetinghouse a thousand miles away from home and meeting people who instantly care about you and your problems.  Does anyone else in the world have this blessing?  Anywhere you go, you find people who will help you, even if they have never heard your name before.

              Jesus said, "Truly, I say to you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or lands, for my sake and for the gospel, who will not receive a hundredfold now in this time, houses and brothers and sisters and mothers and children…(Mar 10:29-30).

              Many times I have been made to feel uncomfortable, even disliked, because of my faith.  I haven’t yet experienced what we think of as full-blown persecution, but even small things can weigh on your mind and cause you to waver when they happen again and again.  Yet Christians are blessed with Divine help and comforting knowledge when that happens.

              So we can confidently say, "The Lord is my helper; I will not fear; what can man do to me?" (Heb 13:6)

              And now as I grow older and face trying times I still have something that others do not.  How can they face serious illnesses thinking this is all there is?  How can they face the death of loved ones thinking they will never see them again?  How can they look death in the eye with dignity and grace when in their minds they will simply cease to exist?

              But we would not have you ignorant, brethren, concerning them that fall asleep; that you sorrow not, even as the rest, who have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so them also that are fallen asleep in Jesus will God bring with him. (1Th 4:13-14)

              For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality. But when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy victory? O death, where is thy sting? The sting of death is sin; and the power of sin is the law: but thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. (1Co 15:53-57)

              So yes, the trip was a little uncomfortable this time, especially when the rain started the morning we had to pack up and created a puddle two to four inches deep over half the campsite—including under the tent!  But we experienced plenty to offset the bad memories.  Far beyond that, if you remain faithful to God, I have no doubt that, regardless how unpleasant your life or your exit from it, when you wake up in eternal glory, you will shout from on high, “It was worth it!”
 
For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory which shall be revealed to us (Rom 8:18).

Dene Ward

I had heard bad news the night before, and after a night of crying and praying, had completely passed the grief stage and was well into rage.  I furiously weeded the flower beds, flinging dirt and weeds as hard as I could.  At least it served a purpose.  In Florida, you can’t just hoe the weeds and expect them to die.  Anything green will re-root by morning in this humid climate unless you completely remove it from the garden. 

              I was black to my elbows and sweating profusely when it crossed my mind to wonder if it might just be all right to curse if I were cursing Satan.  Chloe sat next to me, tilting her head back and forth in confusion.  Finally, when the convulsive sobbing started, she tucked her tail between her legs and slunk off in the direction of the porch, with a bewildered look over her shoulder at me.

              In a moment of clarity awhile later, I realized that I had reached a milestone in my spiritual life.  Automatically, without even having to think about it, I had directed my rage at the right person.  Instead of blaming God, I had blamed the one who twists every good thing into ugliness.  For once I had never even had a question about why this particular thing had happened.  I knew why it had happened—because the enemy of God is the enemy of every one of his faithful children too.

              So why doesn’t God keep anything bad from happening to those children?  Maybe the same reason a good parent doesn’t shield his child from the result of his own mistakes.  Maybe the same reason we make them eat their vegetables and get their shots.  Causing pain is not always bad, not if you want to build healthy bodies and strong characters.  But who am I to even ask or say anything definitive about the matter?  This is all I can say:

              His faithfulness is everlasting, Psa 119:90.
              He loves justice and will not forsake his saints, Psa 37:28.
              His love is steadfast, Psa 89:2.
              There is no unrighteousness in him, Psa 92:15.
            He made all things very good, Gen 1:31, and is the only one who is good, Luke 18:19. 
              He cannot be tempted with evil, and is never the cause of temptation, James 1:13.

              Does any of that sound like the one we should blame about anything?  Most of our problems come because of the freewill God created in us, yet even that freewill is a good thing for it means we can choose to love and serve God rather than being the pawns of a pagan notion of destiny.  It means He can know that our service is willing and not forced, and that our love for Him is just as genuine as His for us.

              That means we will have to put up with things we don’t like, with things that hurt and cause us pain because a long time ago one of us chose the wrong way, and suddenly there was evil in the world.  But isn’t it wonderful that the justice of God says that, while we may have to live with the effects of that choice, we aren’t saddled with its guilt—we can make our own choices.

              Remember when bad things befall you who to blame.  Go out to your flower beds and remind yourself what the scriptures call him each time you rip out a weed and fling it with all your might--the Accuser, the Adversary, the Enemy, the Evil One, the father of lies, the Prince of demons, the Ruler of this world, that old Serpent, the Tempter.  Why in the world would we ever think Someone Else was to blame?
 
This I recall to my mind; therefore have I hope. It is of Jehovah's lovingkindnesses that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning; great is thy faithfulness. Jehovah is my portion, saith my soul; therefore will I hope in him. Jehovah is good unto them that wait for him, to the soul that seeks him. It is good that a man should hope and quietly wait for the salvation of Jehovah. Lam 3:21-26
 
Dene Ward