In this part of Florida we have a little bit of winter.  In fact, we have several spells each year with two or three days of gray, wet, cold that seeps into your bones and makes you wonder why anyone would ever nickname this place “The Sunshine State.”
            Then a morning dawns as clear a blue as you could ever imagine and the sun comes out in a blaze you would swear was even brighter than in summer.  The dog’s fur is warm from lying out in the field instead of burrowing under the porch, and you wish you could lie out there with her.  Now you know why it’s called “The Sunshine State,” and you also know no one up north has these respites, certainly not this degree of warmth in the middle of December, January, or February.  They also don’t have bright yellow jessamine cascading from the tops of trees, and camellias treating you to a mid-winter pink blossom that can withstand even a quick morning’s frost.
            Life is like that for Christians.  God never promised a life without trials any more than He promised a year without winter.  We do our neighbors a disservice when we tell them all their problems will go away if they just hand them over to the Lord.  Casting your burdens on him doesn’t mean they won’t affect you any longer—it means you have all the help you need to handle them.  Why would the help be promised if those problems were going to disappear?
            Paul said he served “the Lord with all tears, and humility, and trials” (Acts 20:19).  James tells us to “count it all joy when you meet trials of various kinds” (1:2).  Peter goes so far as to tell us it is necessary for us to be “grieved by various trials” (1 Pet 1:6) and not to think it “strange” when we are (4:12).
            But God does give us reminders of what is to come, things we might call a taste of Heaven here on earth.  He sends it in a strong, godly marriage with two people working together, laughing together, crying together, and growing together as they help each other toward that final Home.  He gives it in that first lusty cry from your child as he enters the world.  He reminds us of that first place we lost in the spring when the azaleas explode in all their color, when the dogwoods shine through the woods like a beacon, and when the birds sing in a cacophony of trills, tweets, chirps, and twitters as they fly back and forth building their nests.  He shows us what He has in store for us as we gather with our sanctified brothers and sisters and raise our hearts in song and encourage one another with love, with advice, and with edification to sustain us during those times not quite so Heavenly tasting.
            We cannot have Heaven now.  We wouldn’t want to give up this world if we did.  So we have troubles, we have tragedies, we grow old and ache and become aggravatingly forgetful and finally learn to long for our true abode instead of being satisfied with second best.  But God does remind us occasionally of how it will be, a little nudge in the right direction so we will eventually make it Home.
 
If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth, Col 3:1-2.
 
Dene Ward
           

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 does have 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

Twenty-five years ago my husband was ambushed and shot in the line of duty.  His survival brought about deep gratitude and relief in this house.  Yet there were other trials we still had to endure.  I chastised myself for complaining about them because things could have easily been so much worse.  Yes, the first week was one of abject terror because reprisals had been threatened.  I have never felt so lonely in my life as I rose to look out the windows every night when the dogs barked, especially since he was still recovering from his wounds and unable to do much.  Plus we had to deal with police investigators, attorneys, supervisors all the way up to the Secretary of the Department of Corrections (himself!), and then there was the media.  Add to all those the doctor appointments, physical therapy appointments, hearings, and the accompanying financial problems as he lay out of work for nearly a month.  But, I kept reminding myself, he's alive.
            I had come within a literal quarter inch of having no more socks to pick up, no more shirts to iron, no more toothpaste tubes squeezed in the middle, and no more cough drop wrappers lying by the (missed) trash can, and I was so glad!  If this is the worst trial we have to go through, I will never complain again, I confidently affirmed.
            One year, two months, and ten days later I got irritated over a pair of socks.  Later that same day the water heater sprang a leak.  We live in Florida out in the country, it was summer, and we own a "manufactured home," which is sales-speak for trailer.  Nothing fits right off the shelf and often must be ordered.  Repairmen will sometimes refuse to travel this far out, and when they do it costs plenty.  The only way to stop the leaking (actually pouring) water heater until it was fixed was to turn off the water to the entire house. 
               The next day the air conditioner quit.  Did I mention we live in Florida and it was summer and in a trailer you have seven foot ceilings and no attic space so it is always 10 degrees hotter inside than out—where it was 95 with matching humidity, which meant a heat index of about 110. 
            So what did I do, beginning with those socks?  Complain!  What happened to all those confident assertions? 
            I have always had great disdain for the Israelites.  How could they have possibly been unfaithful to God after all He did for them?  How could they possibly "murmur" (complain) as I Corinthians 10 accuses?  Surely they were the most ungrateful, hardheaded people who have ever lived.  And what did Paul say about them a few verses later?  Now these things happened unto them by way of example; and they were written for our admonition…(1Cor 10:11).  MY admonition?  I could never be like those people.  Wherefore let him that thinks he stands take heed lest he fall (1Cor 10:12).
            Perhaps I have been a little too hard on those people, a little too Pharisaical.  "Thank you, Lord, that I am not like THEM."  But I am--over and over and over.  And aren't we all?
            The disciples rejoiced that they were counted worthy to suffer for Him.  And here I can't even put up with something that has absolutely nothing to do with persecution for my faith.  He that is faithful in a very little is faithful also in much: (Luke 16:10).  If I can't manage the small, I certainly won't manage the things of greater importance.
            It only took a year for things to be back to "normal" for me, complaining, that is.  Pay attention:  the lesson learned from one bad scare won't last if it doesn't cause a change in heart altogether, along with a daily renewing of that change.  I would certainly hate for the Lord to decide I need to go through it all again.
 
I will pursue them with sword, famine, and pestilence, and will make them a horror to all the kingdoms of the earth, to be a curse, a terror, a hissing, and a reproach among all the nations where I have driven them, because they did not pay attention to my words, declares the LORD, that I persistently sent to you by my servants the prophets, but you would not listen, declares the LORD (Jer 29:18-19).
 
Dene Ward
 

We worked our boys hard when they were growing up, weeding and picking the garden in the heat of a Florida summer, standing in a hot kitchen working the assembly line of produce canning and freezing, mowing an acre’s worth of our five with a push mower—not a walk-behind, but a push mower—splitting and stacking wood for the wood stove, hauling brush, raking leaves, and dumping them for mulch.  After hours of hard labor and buckets of sweat, nothing thrilled them more on a hot summer afternoon than a refreshing dip in a nearby spring.
            Springs, even in Florida, are cold.  It is almost painful to step into one--they will literally take your breath away.  I was one who gradually eased my way in to avoid the shock, but the boys wanted to “get it over with,” and usually jumped off the pier, the floating dock, or the rope swing, whatever that particular spring had as a point of entry, and if I was standing too close I “got it over with” too. 
            One of their favorites was Ichetucknee, probably because that one took up a whole day as we rented tubes and floated down the river from the spring head, leaving the water three hours later when we reached the picnic pavilions.  Even by that point in the float, the river was still close enough to the spring that we could chill a homegrown watermelon in its cool shallows while we ate tomato sandwiches and leftover fried chicken; and we never had to worry about snakes or alligators.
            We were always the only ones around clothed from our necks to our knees so we got a lot of strange looks.  The clothes did not help a bit with the cold.  They were for modesty only.  Nothing about a freezing wet shirt sticking to your body will keep you warm, even in a patch of sunlight.  Yet when I finally got wet enough that a mere splash did not make me squeal, the water was a refreshing respite from the sauna we call summer down here. 
            Peter told the people of Jerusalem that if they repented they would receive “seasons of refreshing” in Acts 3:19.  I am told that the word actually means “breathing,” as in catching one’s breath after hard labor or exercise.  That indicates to me that God is not promising us a life of ease.  Yes, we have blessings that others do not have, and that only those who are spiritually minded can even recognize and enjoy, but we will still experience heartache, persecution, illness, and other trials of life.  We are expected to wear ourselves out with service to any in need, as long as there is life in us.  God has no truck with laziness.
            But we have this promise—as surely as ice cold spring water lapping against an overheated body can refresh and renew, we will have refreshment from above that soothes our aches and heals our hurts, that rests our souls with the peace of fellowship with God, and that bestows grace on our tortured spirits.  Repent therefore, and turn again, that your sins may be blotted out, that so there may come seasons of refreshing from the presence of the Lord; and that he may send the Christ who has been appointed for you, Jesus, Acts 3:19,20.



Dene Ward

A couple of times when I was young my family, together with my aunt, uncle, and cousins, shared the rent on a house in New Smyrna Beach for a week.  It was an ordinary cement block house, probably built in the 1940s, two bedrooms, one bath, a living room and kitchen.  What made it worth renting was its location—right on the beach, which was not nearly so crowded in those days.  Every morning we four girls were out building sand castles and playing tag with the waves, floating on the undulating water just past the sandbar or diving below to play shark attack on one another.  We all smelled of suntan lotion and seaweed, coconuts and salt, and only came in for lunch and an afternoon of card games and board games during the worst of the heat, and were back out again in the evening when the sea breeze cooled enough to give us a shiver after once again dunking ourselves in the brine.
            Our parents got the two bedrooms, but we girls didn’t mind sharing the floor in the small living room, the gray, white-streaked linoleum tiles covered with quilts, the floor beneath crunching with a little grit despite all the sweeping our mothers did every day.  You live on the beach, you WILL have sand.  At 8 I was the oldest and usually the last one asleep.  No air conditioning in those days meant the windows stayed open wide and I loved listening to the roar of the ocean.  Over and over and over, the steady pounding of the surf gave me a feeling of security.  I did not have to guess if the next wave would roll in; all I had to do was wait for it, and eventually it lulled me to sleep.
            Fast forward to a time thirty years later.  We were camping on Anastasia Island, a beach 60 miles further north.  The state campground was still small back then, only one section just a few feet off the dirt trail to the beach, acres of palmetto groves separating it from the bridge to the city streets of old St Augustine.  The boys had their own tent, and as we lay in ours once again I listened to the surf crashing onshore, just as it had all those years before.  Over and over, as steady as a ticking clock, as a piano teacher’s metronome, as a heartbeat on a hospital monitor.  All those years and it had not stopped.
            And then another twenty years passed and we two spent a weekend on Jekyll Island.  This time we were too far from the beach to hear it in the night, but after a wonderful meal at the Driftwood Bistro we stopped on the beach for a walk and there it was.  The wind whipped around our legs and plastered my hair across my face, gulls screamed over us in the waning light, and the waves were still coming in, again and again and again, just as they have since the dawn of time.  They never stop.  Some days they may be rougher than others.  Some days the sea may look almost calm.  But check the water’s edge and that lacy froth still creeps onshore in its never-ending cycle.
            Thus says the LORD, who gives the sun for light by day and the fixed order of the moon and the stars for light by night, who stirs up the sea so that its waves roar— the LORD of hosts is his name: ​“If this fixed order departs from before me, declares the LORD, then shall the offspring of Israel cease from being a nation before me forever.” Jer 31:35-36
            Jeremiah tells the people that God will restore his nation and establish a new covenant in the verses just preceding those, a covenant in which their sins will be “remembered no more.”  He uses the stability of the natural phenomena that God created as a guarantee of His promise.  Only if the sun stops rising, if the moon stops shining, if the waves stop rolling in, can you discount my promises, He says.  That guarantee counts for all of God’s promises.  He never changes, we are told.  He is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow, so yes, He will keep the promises He has made to us of redemption, of protection, of spiritual blessings and a final reward.
            Are you a little blue today?  Has your life been upended in a way you never expected, in a way you can hardly bear?  The sea God made is still roaring.  Those waves are still rolling in just as they have for generation after generation after generation.  The white caps you see are the same your parents saw and your grandparents and your great-grandparents on back to your earliest ancestors.  And God is still faithful to His people.  Close your eyes, listen to that perpetual roar, and breathe a little easier tonight.
 
I am the LORD your God, who stirs up the sea so that its waves roar— the LORD of hosts is his name. ​And I have put my words in your mouth and covered you in the shadow of my hand, establishing the heavens and laying the foundations of the earth, and saying to Zion, ‘You are my people.’” Isa 51:15-16
 
Dene Ward
 

I will apologize in advance.  I am going to have a little rant this morning.  About white boards.
            I have despised the things ever since they began to be used by most churches.  What I don't like about them may not bother you a bit, but please hear me out.  You may never have considered some of these things, and while I understand that my vision is completely different from 95% of the rest of you, I do know that other people have these issues to some extent.
            First there is often a glare as they reflect the overhead lighting.  That glare can obliterate parts of the board completely, a different part for each person, depending upon where he sits in the room.  You must admit, a blackboard doesn't do that.
            Second, there is another glare issue involved in a white background.  If the letters are not thick and bold, the white part of the board will "bleed over" and cover them entirely, especially as we sore-eyed people have to squint against all that bright, uncompromising WHITE.  This time, I admit that may only be my problem because of the many hours of surgery I have endured with my eyes taped open under bright lights.  For me and maybe others who have had even a couple of eye surgeries, white letters on a black background (like a blackboard) is the easier way for me to see what you have written because the background isn't so glaring.  And I assume you do want me to see it since you took the trouble to write it down.
            Third, the dry erase markers produce such a narrow line that they can only be seen a few feet away—unless you have excellent vision.  For me, white chalk on a blackboard adds a good five or six feet to my vision.  In a classroom that's a lot.
            Fourth, those pretty colored markers diminish the ease of seeing the letters by about 50%.  Don't ask me why, but colored chalk on a blackboard doesn't cause the same issue.  If you simply must use a white board, please throw away those colored markers!  I don't care how pretty it is—I care if I can see it.
            And fifth, erasing those markers takes a lot of elbow grease sometimes.  If you use the colored ones, sometimes they will never disappear.  A blackboard?  Well, you will occasionally have to go beat the erasers out and rinse off the board, but most of the time you can never tell what was written before once it has been erased.
            But that brings up the lesson for today.  The white board I have to use at the Ladies' Class these days is no longer white.  I can even tell what a teacher wrote last year because I see the faint shadow of the letters.  Yes, we have cleaned it.  Three of us have sprayed on that special cleaner and scrubbed till our arms ached, each trying to show the other one it can be done.  Guess what?  It can't!
            When we forgive, we have a tendency to forgive like a white board erases.  That faint little marking is still clear enough in our minds to keep the memory fresh and easily brought back to life.  "I'll never forget when she…" some might say, and there you see it—the shadows on the white board that are still there.  "There he goes--again…" others might say, and we see that their so-called forgiveness was a sham.
            God doesn't forgive that way.  When he wipes the slate clean, it is completely bare—no faint markings or shadowy blurs, no chalk dust, nothing remaining at all.  Except when we don't forgive.  Then we have this promise:  For if you forgive people their wrongdoing, your heavenly Father will forgive you as well. But if you don’t forgive people, your Father will not forgive your wrongdoing (Matt 6:14-15). 
            White boards—I hate them!  But they do this one thing very well—they teach me how to forgive.
 
Come now, let us reason together, says the LORD: though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall become like wool  (Isa 1:18).
 
Dene Ward

When we have trouble finding our blessings:

The prayer of Matthew Henry, after being robbed:  I thank Thee first because I was never robbed before; second, because although they took my purse they did not take my life; third, because although they took my all, it was not much; and fourth because it was I who was robbed, and not I who robbed.

Courtesy of Warren Berkley, berksblog.net

On February 14, 2018, a young man who had recently been expelled from the school, opened fire at the Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida, and killed 17 people, injuring 17 others as well.  That night several prayer vigils were held in the area.  At one of them, people were asked to list one good thing they would do in the near future to help turn the anger, shock, and grief of the gathered crowd into something positive.  According to the New York Post, as a result of that challenge in the next few days prayers were read for the murderer, Nikolas Cruz.  What kind of prayers?  "We ask that you would intervene in his disturbed mind and show him the hope that can only be found in you," was only one of several of that attitude prayed.  Perhaps we all need to ask ourselves if we could have prayed such a thing after our child had been slaughtered by this man.  It might not be such a stretch to think that one day we may be called upon to do the same.

Jesus told a story that even the most Biblically ignorant people in the world have heard.  We call it “The Good Samaritan.”  Most of us have never actually been in the shoes of either of these men.  Oh, we may have been on the side of the road with a flat tire or a broken fan belt or an overheated radiator, and maybe someone even stopped and helped us, but I doubt we have ever filled every variable of this example.

A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and he fell among robbers, who stripped him and beat him and departed, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road, and when he saw him he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he journeyed, came to where he was, and when he saw him, he had compassion. He went to him and bound up his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he set him on his own animal and brought him to an inn and took care of him. And the next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper, saying, ‘Take care of him, and whatever more you spend, I will repay you when I come back.’ Luke 10:30-35.

Understand this:  the relationship between Jew and Samaritan was even worse than black and white, and maybe even Jew and Gentile.  “On all public occasions, Samaritans took the part hostile to the Jews, while they seized every opportunity of injuring and insulting them…they sold many Jews into slavery…they waylaid and killed pilgrims on their road to Jerusalem.  The Jews retaliated by treating the Samaritans with every mark of contempt; by accusing them of falsehood, folly, and irreligion; and…by disowning them as [being] of the same race or religion, and this in the most offensive terms of assumed superiority and self-righteous fanaticism” (Edersheim, The Life and Times of Jesus the Messiah). 

These two men not only disagreed politically, they disagreed religiously as well.  Their people hated one another, mistreated one another; they were violent and malicious in every way possible.  Yet here is one who finds himself in need and his “enemy” takes care of him.  And not just minimally.  The Samaritan left “two denarii” to care for the Jew.  A denarius was a day’s wage for a skilled laborer—think carpenter, plumber, or mason in our day, and the wage those men make an hour, then multiply it out for two days’ worth of wages.  That is the equivalent of what the Samaritan left for a complete stranger, and an enemy at that.

Now think today of someone who fits that description—a stranger who is a member of an enemy nation, one that is violent, who hates us, and who is also of a different religion.  Do I have to spell it out?

So you drive by and see someone on the side of the road who is obviously one of those people by his looks and dress—or maybe at the last rest area you saw him on his prayer rug looking to the east so you know exactly what he is.  What are you going to do?  If Jesus’ story does not apply here, it applies nowhere.

The posts I have seen by some of my brethren on Facebook appall me.  I do not see a kind people who would care even for those we disagree with, as Jesus did when he healed Malchus’s ear, but an angry people who would wish them harm.  What are we thinking?  “Stop this!” Jesus told Peter when he drew his sword.  “Any who take the sword will perish by the sword" Matt 26:52.
​
Jesus also described the citizens of his spiritual kingdom this way:  You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, ​so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. ​For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? ​You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect. Matt 5:43-48  

I never thought that passage would actually mean something to me someday.  I don’t have enemies, at least none who might wish me harm, but that possibility is becoming more and more real, and that means that passage is becoming one we may have to use one of these days.  Do not become like the unbelievers who ignore the entire Bible by ignoring this one verse in your own life.  The same God wrote it all.

In the Roman Empire Christians often gave themselves away because they were kind not only to their own, but also to their pagan neighbors, even those who had been unkind to them.  Everyone knew, “Only Christians do that.” 
Is that what they would say about you?
 
Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them… Repay no one evil for evil, but give thought to do what is honorable in the sight of all. If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all. Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, “Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.” To the contrary, “if your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink; for by so doing you will heap burning coals on his head.” Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good. Rom 12:14-21
 
Dene Ward
 

I’m sitting in my camo-mesh lounge chair in front of a campfire, the flame whirling up in a mini-tornado, the smoke wafting down the hillside away from the tent site.  The sun peeks through the leaf canopy dappling the brown, red, orange, and yellow foliage-strewn ground just enough to moderate the cool air into [long] shirtsleeve weather.  Pieces of crystal blue sky show here and there, grayed occasionally by a patch of camp smoke.  The titmice nag at us from the saplings and bushes at the foot of tall pines, hickory, beeches, and red oak, while a woodpecker alternates his door-knock pecking and his manic laugh.
            The campsite could not have been laid out any better.  A long back-in approach left us plenty of room to unpack boxes, coolers, and suitcases, and still have room to stack firewood and set up tents on a perfect length tent site, something not always easy to find for a 16 x 10 tent.  The table fit nicely inside the screen and the fire ring is far enough from both the tents to avoid sparks.
            The park itself is beautiful, lakes, valleys, mountain tops to hike—no hike longer than three to four hours, some appreciably shorter.  The bathhouses are clean with plenty of hot water and strong sprays from large showerheads.  The campsites afford as much or as little privacy as one wants—take your pick.  It is quiet and peaceful, yet only ten minutes from grocery, gas, and pharmacy.
            We’ve been here six days now—perfect park, perfect campsite, perfect weather.  We haven’t even had our customary day of rain, nor even an overcast morning.  So this is not the trip to test our mettle as campers.  It’s all been way too perfect.  But you know what?  We won’t have many stories to tell from this trip.  Oh wait!  Our forty year old electric blanket did give out on us the first—the coldest—night.  And don’t you see?  That’s the story we’ll be telling—and that’s when we found out we were seasoned campers.  We shrugged our shoulders and snuggled a little closer together in the double sleeping bag.
            Peter tells us that God will test our mettle as His servants.  Wherein you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while, if need be, you have been put to grief in manifold trials, that the proof of your faith, being more precious than gold that perishes though it is proved by fire, may be found unto praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ, 1 Pet 1:6-7.
            Too often, instead of passing the test, we use it as an excuse.  We say, “I know I didn’t do well, but after all, I was dealing with such difficult circumstances.”  Instead of growing and getting better and stronger, we blow up as usual and then apologize yet again.  If we were really improving, the apologies would become less frequent, and one day, perhaps, unnecessary.  That’s what God expects of us.
            He doesn’t look down and say, “Well, I know they can handle this trial.”  Why should He bother sending it?  Instead, the test comes and after we pass He looks down, as He did on Mt Moriah and says, “Now I know.”
            And it’s those tests that give us the experience to help others and the strength to endure more.  God never promised us perfect lives here on this sin-cursed world.  He did not promise you fame and fortune (no matter what Joel Osteen says).  He did not promise perfect health, perfect families, or even perfect brethren.  What He did promise is a perfect reward after we successfully navigate what amounts to, in the perspective of Eternity, a moment or two of imperfection.
            But only if you have the mettle.
 
When they had preached the gospel to that city and had made many disciples, they returned to Lystra and to Iconium and to Antioch, strengthening the souls of the disciples, encouraging them to continue in the faith, and saying that through many tribulations we must enter the kingdom of God, Acts 14:21-22.
 
Dene Ward

Have you had a child, or perhaps an older relative, do this?  They notice a sore on their arm or leg and they sit there and pick at it over and over until suddenly they hold out the offending appendage and cry, "Look! It's bleeding!!"
            "Of course it's bleeding!" you want to shout back at them.  After all, they are the primary reason for that.
            We are a complaining people, but if something is bothering you, if it nags at you again and again and again, maybe the fault is your own.  Maybe you've sat there picking at it in your mind, over and over, until it finally bleeds.  Now you have something real to worry about.
            I do realize that all anxiety is not quite that simple.  Some of us do have issues in that regard.  But others just can't seem to leave well enough alone.  Nothing suits us until the blood flows.  And that is exactly the basis for all whining and complaining, for if it is truly something serious that is worth discussing and being concerned about, something you can actually fix, then that's what you do—fix it.  And that is far less satisfying to some people than seeing a problem worsen by constantly picking at it.
            We don't just do this to others.  We often do it to ourselves, wondering "what if" until all possibilities have been exhausted and then starting over again.  Pick, pick, pick.
            You know what the vet does when a dog has a sore spot or a surgery incision or something else he is likely to lick and worry at all day?  He puts a plastic cone around the dog's neck, the "cone of shame" some have taken to calling it humorously.  Maybe we need one of those too.  Leave it alone.  If it takes picking at to make it bleed, it probably isn't that serious to begin with.
            Put an imaginary cone around your neck today.  Christ came to give us peace.  We will never have it until we stop all the picking.
 
Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honorable, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things. The things which ye both learned and received and heard and saw in me, these things do: and the God of peace shall be with you. (Phil 4:8-9).
 
Dene Ward