About twenty years ago, we were camping in a Georgia State Park, one of our favorites actually, private sites, modern bathhouses, beautiful scenery, and great hiking trails.  Ah yes, the hiking trails…
            We decided one day to do the big trail—up a mountain and back down, seven miles total.  So we cooked a hearty breakfast of pancakes, sausage, and coffee, and took off after cleaning up and securing everything against the elements and the wild animals, about ten in the morning.  We carried water and some snacks, and the park map.  I am the navigator in the family, and usually the only one with a decent sense of direction.  We expected to be back in time for an early supper, about four in the afternoon.  With time to build a cook fire, we would be eating by five, and ready for it. 
            We made the top of the mountain about one, took a few minutes to enjoy the view, eat an apple and a handful of peanuts, then started down the other side.  The grade was steep, and we were soon following a trail of switchbacks, but sure we were still on the right path because of the red blazes the park had so thoughtfully sprayed on the trees every so often, and because every turn matched the map.  Keith, the one who is always looking for an easier way, looked down the hill to our left and saw yet another switchback.  “So let’s just take the shortcut down,” he said. 
            Having grown up on the side of a mountain in the Ozarks, he is much surer footed than this flatlander, but he assured me that I could hold on to his shoulders and he would lead the way down safely, and possibly save us a couple hundred yards.  So I agreed and willingly followed.  We must have cut down through half a dozen switchbacks before the path finally leveled out. 
            We walked on, and came to a fork in the road that was not on the map.  Hmmm.  This time he trusted me and my sense of direction, and off we went toward what I knew was south, and thus had to be the right way.  A little further on there was another unmapped fork so we took the same direction.  And then another, and another.  Somehow this did not seem right, and about then I realized that I had not seen a red blaze in a long time.  About four-thirty we came to the end of the road—literally.  Beyond it lay a fifty foot drop to a creek running full and loud. 
            Obviously, we had missed something somewhere, but I knew we had not gone the wrong overall direction—we had just wound up on the wrong path.  We tried retracing our trail, but going at it backwards through the many forks we had taken, confused even me.  We were about resigned to spending the night in the woods.  I was exhausted, it was late, and getting colder by the minute.  The sweater I had taken off and tied around my waist due to the heat of exercise would not do me much good when the nighttime temperatures hit the 40s.  I was determined not to panic, though.  I figured the last thing Keith needed was a hysterical woman on his hands.  Tomorrow we would get out--somehow. 
            Finally, he told me to sit and wait while he checked another fork in the road.  I didn’t tell him that it scared me to death—with his lousy sense of direction it might easily be the last time I ever saw him.  But not ten minutes later he came running back.  “I found power lines,” he said.  “They have to lead somewhere.” 
            So we followed them, and about thirty minutes later came out on a gravel road.  We followed the lines further and came to a house.  Keith knocked on the door and explained our situation.  The man was on his way to work the night shift at a local factory and would take us back to camp, “about fifteen miles from here,” he added.  “You’re the second couple in the last month to come out of those woods lost.”
            We got back to camp at nearly seven, exhausted and relieved, and ready to eat, shower, and hit the sleeping bags.  The next morning we drove to the top of the mountain, then checked out the trail going down, careful to stay on it, watch for blazes, and look at the map.  We were sure the park was at fault.  But no, at the end of the third or fourth switchback the trail and blazes led straight ahead and down the other side of the mountain.  When we had left the trail and cut through those switchbacks to what looked like the same trail, we had missed that and had wound up on a mountain bike trail, as yet unfinished, unmapped, and “un-blazed” by the color-coded spray paint.  The map was correct; we just did not follow it.  At that point we were not ready for another seven mile hike, but the next year we went back to that park and followed the trail carefully the whole way.  We got back about four-thirty and never once got lost because we stayed on the trail and followed the map!
            This one is easy, isn’t it?  God has given us a map.  It does not matter what things may look like--stay on the trail; follow the map!  You may see a trail to the side that seems like the same one.  Don’t take a shortcut that leads you from what you know is right.  If it is the same trail, you will get there eventually.  If it is not, you may never find your way back.  Always look for the blazes that the faithful who went ahead of you painted for you to follow.  You may think you have a great sense of direction—but if you get off track, that won’t keep you from getting lost.  Or being lost, which is what we are all trying to avoid. 
            Not only has God given you a map, He is out there Himself looking for you.  Don’t be proud; take advantage of the offer and follow His lead.  You will always make it home, no matter how far off the trail you have gotten.  The Trailblazer knows the way.
 
I will seek that which was lost, and will bring back that which was driven away, and will bind that which was broken, and will strengthen that which was sick… For the Son of Man came to seek and to save that which was lost, Ezek. 34:16; Luke 19:10.
 
Dene Ward
 

A few years ago, everyone knew what happened on April 15, 1912, because they had seen the movie.  We don't do movies—a deaf husband cannot enjoy them—but even if we could have gone, I had no desire to see that one.  I already knew how it ended—the ship sank.  So missing Leonardo and Kate was no great loss to me.  But recently I discovered something about that event that did affect me profoundly.  On April 21, 1912, six days after the Titanic went down, the last body was pulled from the Atlantic Ocean by men on board the rescue ship MacKay-Bennett.  It was the body of a fair-haired little boy around two years of age.
            I had two fair-haired little boys, and two more now as grandsons, so I read on with my heart galloping.  The article, from 2011, was featured on nbcnews.com.  It took nearly 100 years to identify that baby boy, but with the help of DNA and some persistence, they finally did.  Sidney Leslie Godwin was 19 months old.  He had boarded the ship with both his parents and five brothers and sisters.  All of them perished.
            I have not stopped thinking of the last moments for those parents and those children.  Every mother I know would die for her children, and I imagine little Sidney's would have too.  Yet she died but could not save him, nor any of the others.  I know that when my first was born, I promptly began having nightmares about losing him, about the house catching on fire and me unable to get to him, about him becoming ill and me unable to cure him, about someone stealing him from his crib and running off with him, about every possible way to lose a child I had ever heard of.  So now I sit and wonder about little Sidney's last moments, and his poor mother's, who could do nothing to help.
            I imagine that is not too uncommon.  But as I look out on some parents I know and see the ways they are raising their children, not teaching them about God, not taking them to their Bible classes, allowing the entire family to miss the assembly of the saints for every little thing that comes along, overlooking the inappropriate clothing they must wear for the activities they want to be in, refusing to say no to television shows, movies, and video games that are unsuitable for a child of God, it seems obvious that few, if any, are afraid of their children losing their souls.
            We know that we made mistakes.  We have even heard about a few of them from our boys.  But I doubt they would deny that we taught them as much about God as we could, enough to make sure they knew it should be the most important part of their lives.  Many parents worry about their children making a good living, but frankly, the most important thing to us is that, as I write this, they both have their spiritual lives in order.  If not, I would be having those nightmares again, knowing they were lost and unable to "fix it" like Mamas are supposed to do. 
           We will probably die before they do, but if we were to die knowing they were not in a right relationship with their God, it would be a horrible death, no matter how easy it was physically.  That would be the greatest hurt they could ever do us.
           What about you and your parents?  Does your life break their hearts and leave them in agony?  And what about your children?  If you have not taught them about God, you might as well have thrown them out into the icy waters of the North Atlantic without a life preserver.  At least that horrible death would be quicker than what awaits you both.
 
But the steadfast love of the LORD is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear him, and his righteousness to children's children, to those who keep his covenant and remember to do his commandments (Ps 103:17-18).
 
Dene Ward

Recently Keith’s sister came to visit and we took her to the Butterfly Rainforest at the Museum of Natural History at the University of Florida.  We have lived here since before the exhibit even opened and never managed to get there.  When we went in, we saw what we have been missing.
            In the first place you cannot go inside with anything that cannot be closed properly, which means I had to leave my purse behind—it has a snap across the top, but is not sealed with a zipper.  Then you enter one door and cannot open the second until the first door has closed.  When you leave, you go through the same process—through one door, wait, close the door, then through the second door—but with an added precaution:  you check each other over for hitchhikers.  The butterflies will land on you, especially, it seemed from our experience that day, if you have on bright colors or large floral prints.  They will also land on your bare head and arms.  You must walk the paths carefully so as not to trod upon one that has landed there.  You sit on benches only after inspecting them.  But mainly, you just look and look and look, up and over and around.  They are everywhere.
            The colors and patterns are breathtaking.  Scarlet and black, Halloween orange and black, an intricate black and white that looks for all the world like a tatted doily; olive and black, chartreuse and black, emerald green and aqua; pale blue, royal blue, teal and blue violet; solid brown, spotted brown, banded brown, and a brown design that looks like it belongs on the walls of ancient Aztec ruins—and that’s not the half of it.
          Many of these beauties were brought from other places as pupae, and as they hatch are let go every day while the visitors watch.  It was a wonderful couple of hours.  And after I got home I started wondering if there were any butterflies in the Bible.  Well, yes, in a way.
          First of all I found that back in the early days, the butterfly symbolized the resurrection of Jesus and later the resurrection of his saints.  That makes a certain amount of sense.  The caterpillar spins its pupa, which hangs there looking dead for a couple of weeks.  Then suddenly the adult emerges, alive again, or so it appears.
         But it seems to me that the better Biblical image comes from Romans 12:2:    Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.  Just as the caterpillar is transformed into something completely different, we should be too.  I am, in the words of 2 Cor 5:17, “a new creature.”  Those butterflies were beautiful, but when we walked the exhibits in the halls outside their “rainforest,” the pupa on display there were mottled gray-brown and just plain ugly.
          I looked up that word “transformed” and guess what the Greek word is?  Metamorphoo.  I would be surprised if you haven’t heard that in a sermon sometime in your life, but maybe you have never really thought about the change that insect makes from worm to butterfly.  Looking at those beautiful things that morning, and then seeing those ugly pupae hanging by the score really brought the message home to me.  I am not just to change a little bit; I am to change drastically.  That may be difficult for you to comprehend if you were “brought up in the church” as we are prone to say, and have never really done any “big bad sins” as we tend to define them.  Yet it is my obligation to find the things that need changing. 
          I may not read pornography, but I might become insensitive to the sin around me, especially when our culture deems it “appropriate” for television.  I may not steal, but my selfishness can rob others of any time or service they might need from me.  I may not commit idolatry, but I can become so celebrity-conscious that what those people say, do and wear becomes my model instead of Christ.  I may not murder, but I commit character assassination every time I call, text, or post unkind words about another.
          Those butterflies we saw that day were almost too pretty for this sin-sick, ugly world.  That’s what people should be thinking about us.  We are not like the world, and we don’t like the world.  There is a better place coming, a “Butterfly Rainforest” for all those who have transformed their lives to be like their Lord.  Don’t land on the coat of a passerby and allow yourself to be removed from that hope.
 
…put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, and…be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and…put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness, Eph 4:22-24.
 
Dene Ward
 

This will be an incomplete review, but how do you review something that is basically a reference work, not something you, as an ordinary Christian, would sit down and read from cover to cover?  My son Nathan recommended this book and added that it is written by probably the most noted Biblical scholar the church has ever produced, a professor emeritus at Abilene Christian, Everett Ferguson.  Because of that, one does not have to be quite so fearful about false doctrines that might ensnare him.  (Except you should always beware, at least a little, no matter who wrote it.)
            Mr. Ferguson covers the political history, society, and culture of both the Greeks and the Romans from the time of Alexander through the first century and a little beyond.  Then he covers Judaism just as completely from the time of the return from Babylonian captivity.  The table of contents is nearly as detailed as an index, and it is easy to find what you need.
            For example, in a class I was teaching recently, a student asked about the "lost gospels."  This book covers all the apocryphal books in the Judaism section, not just those few included in the New Jerusalem (Catholic) Bible, and gives you a brief synopsis of each book, along with the evidence (or lack of) about its origins and canonicity.  (And by the way, those books are not lost—scholars have known about them for years, in some cases centuries.)  When you finish you have no doubt that these do not belong in anyone's Bible.
            Another week someone asked about Gnosticism.  I found an informative section on that sect.  For one thing I learned that Gnosticism was not simply a Christian heresy.  It was a pagan philosophy with many versions taught by many people for many years, including Plato.  Gradually it made its way into the early church toward the end of the first century.  It is impossible to list unequivocally, as we tend to do in our Bible classes, what "Gnostics" believe because there are so many types.  However, he does manage to give eight "Characteristic Features," and in those you can see the things John, especially, was fighting in his gospel and epistles.
            Of course this book is not necessary to understand how to please God and make your way to Heaven.  Only one book can do that and it needs no help.  However, the discussions here clearly point out the cultural "baggage" that first century Christians had to overcome, and studying it is a good reminder that we must do the same.  When I hear about Christians who believe the USA is "the kingdom of God," or who are so "rights oriented" that they have no idea what yielding to a brother even means, I know we need that reminder.  And learning what those ancient brethren were surrounded with on a daily basis can make us try harder to make a suitable application to ourselves.
            I have no doubt that this book will come in handy for years to come.  My husband will also use it, I am sure.  It might make a good gift for yours. 
          This is the third edition of Backgrounds of Early Christianity, expanded and updated.  It is published by Eerdmans.
 
Dene Ward

When I was fifteen, the teenage Bible class met upstairs in the building where the church assembled.  The stairs were steep and narrow.  After you become accustomed to something, you become careless, and one Sunday morning after the bell rang and the halls below were filled with talking and laughter, I headed down those stairs and stepped just a little too far.  The front of my foot bent forward at an anatomically impossible angle, and my downward plunge didn’t stop till I hit the bottom.
            Do you know what I did?  Even though my foot started to swell like a balloon on a helium tank, even though the doctor shook his head and told me it was the worst sprain he had ever seen, even though that foot bothered me for six months and the ankle always twisted at the least bit of uneven ground for the next twenty years—despite the gravity of the injury and the pain, the first thing I did was push my skirt down.  When I landed at the bottom of the staircase, it was up around my waist.  That lasted approximately 0.2 seconds.  Whoosh!  It was down and back to my knees once again.  Then, and only then, did I moan.
            Modesty was second nature to me because I was taught it as a child.  I have a friend who wouldn’t give the ER doctor her shirt, despite the fact that she was having a heart attack at that moment.  That’s the way we were raised.  That’s the way most people raised their daughters.  I’m not so sure they do any longer.
            This is something that most women do not want to hear.  They do not want to believe what I am going to tell you about good men.  They want to think that this only applies to bad men, to immature men, to worldly men, but it doesn’t.  It applies to them all because they are men.
            God made men differently than he made women.  He put something in them that makes them think and behave differently.  It’s a hormone, ladies, just like the hormones you want to use to excuse your less than stellar behavior at certain times of life, only it’s a male hormone. 
            Testosterone is what makes a man a man.  It makes him aggressive and protective.  That is why he romances you.  That is why he wants to provide for you and take care of you and the children you have together.  Good things, right?  It also makes him more easily aroused sexually.  He is not a “dirty old man” when he feels that way.  He is, quite simply, a man.  If he has to put up with your moods, you must put up with the side effects of his hormones too.  And just like you expect him to be understanding, he has the right to expect the same from you—without ridicule and without complaint. 
            Far more important than that, God expects it of you.  You must not do anything that could cause a man to sin (stumble, offend), and that leads us to the clothing we wear.  Granted, we are talking about good men, men who practice self-control.  Some men can lust after a woman who is covered head to toe in a horse blanket.  You can’t do anything about them and God doesn’t hold you responsible for that.  But when I hear a Christian college girl say to a young man, “I can wear my bikini if I want to--deal with it!” I know someone needs an attitude adjustment.
            Look at Romans 14 and, instead of thinking about the idolatry problem, think about the clothes you wear. Why do you pass judgment on your brother? Or you, why do you despise your brother? For we will all stand before the judgment seat of God; for it is written, "As I live, says the Lord, every knee shall bow to me, and every tongue shall confess to God." So then each of us will give an account of himself to God. Therefore let us not pass judgment on one another any longer, but rather decide never to put a stumbling block or hindrance in the way of a brother, vv 10-13.  When we don’t care how our actions affect our brothers, we are despising them, Paul says, judging them, and we will have to answer to God for that.     
            Now look at verse 15, with just one slight word change:  For if your brother is grieved by what you [wear], you are no longer walking in love. By what you [wear], do not destroy the one for whom Christ died.  Are you willing to meet God having destroyed a brother by your insistence that you can do as you like and he should “Deal with it?”
            Every Man’s Battle is a book that every woman should read.  As I said, you won’t like it.  You won’t like thinking about the fact that the man you love is like that, but refusing to deal with the issue won’t change it.  Once you understand what your man is dealing with, you will be able to help him through it.
            And here is something else just as important:  Teach your girls about it!  Do you want to keep them safe in a world of predators?  Teach them how to avoid the traps.  How they act and what they wear can make a huge difference.  And listen to their fathers.  If he says, “She doesn’t leave the house in that outfit,” pay attention to him!  He knows better than you what could happen if she does.
            The fashion world knows exactly what it is doing when it creates the clothes women wear.  Unlike the women in the church who want to stick their heads in the sand, worldly women can tell you in an instant what a woman’s clothes do to a man. 
            This is a serious matter.  It’s about the destiny of souls, and God holding us responsible for them.
           
But whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a great millstone fastened around his neck and to be drowned in the depth of the sea. Woe to the world for temptations to sin! For it is necessary that temptations come, but woe to the one by whom the temptation comes! Matthew 18:6-7
 
Dene Ward

I began by keeping three or four potted herbs on my steps for several years. That gradually evolved into a separate, full-blown herb garden—two kinds of parsley, three kinds of basil, plus thyme, oregano, marjoram, dill, sage, cilantro, rosemary, fennel, mint, and chives. 
            I’m still learning some things the hard way.  Dill must be planted in the fall because it cannot tolerate the heat of a Florida summer.  Basil will stop growing when the weather cools, whether you protect it from the frost or not.  Oregano is a ground runner and needs a lot of room.  You must snip your chives from the bottom—not just trim off the tops—if you expect them to replenish.  One recipe for pesto will decimate a basil plant for at least two weeks.  Always give mint its own separate bed, or better still, pot, because it will take over the joint if you don’t. 
            And, Keith hates cilantro.  Although I am not exactly sure how he knows this, he says it tastes “like stinkbugs.”  We discovered this when I sprinkled chopped fresh cilantro over a turkey tortilla casserole.  Now cilantro does have a distinctive flavor.  While it bears a close physical resemblance to Italian flat-leaf parsley, the strongest flavored parsley, its flavor is probably ten times stronger than that herb. There IS such a thing as too much cilantro.  On the other hand, a lot of people like it in moderation, including me.  I guess there is no accounting for tastes.
            And that is why some people reject Jesus.  To some people life tastes sweeter when we do things His way.  The difficult times become easier to bear, and the good times more than we dared hope for.  But other people see in Him a restrictive cage denying them all the pleasures of life.  Their focus on the here and now keeps them from seeing the victory of Eternity, but even worse, they are blinded by Satan to the true joys a child of God can have in this life as well.  …And exercise yourself unto godliness; for bodily exercise is profitable for a little, but godliness is profitable for all things, having the promise of the life that now is, and of that which is to come. 1 Tim 4:7,8.  We can have joy, peace, hope, love, and fellowship with both God and the best people on earth, while on this earth. 
            But they just can’t see it.  I guess to them, godliness tastes like stinkbugs.  Truly, there is just no accounting for tastes.
 
For we are a sweet smell of Christ unto God, in them that are saved, and in them that perish; to the one a smell from death unto death, and to the other a smell from life unto life…2 Cor 2:15,16
 
Dene Ward

Today's post is by guest writer Lucas Ward.

I do not have any children so you may think I don’t have anything worth listening to.  The thing is, for 7 years I was in the position of managing some of Mama's little darlings in what was, for many of them, their first job.  So I saw up close and personal the results of modern American child rearing.  It was rarely pretty.  
            Most kids, as they first get out into the world, have no sense of cause and effect. They have no idea that they should ever put the group ahead of themselves. They don't know how to deal with adversity because they've never been allowed to experience it before. They don't know what work is, have no sense of responsibility, and don't acknowledge any absolutes. AND THESE ARE THE GOOD KIDS!
            Good parents should raise their children to succeed in life, and if they cannot hold down a job, they won’t.  Period.  So here are some suggestions from the boss they might work for someday, who is probably a lot like most bosses.
            1) Don't protect your kids from their mistakes.  If they goof up, allow them to feel the pain it causes.  Point out the relationship between their actions and the consequences.  When it’s their fault, they need to own it, not blame someone else.
            2) Don't protect your kids from life.  I once was talking to one of my employees and said, "Life isn't fair."  She looked at me strangely and said, "Yes it is, or it always has been to me."  All I could do was stare at her with my mouth hanging open and think "Oh, you poor girl!"  She had no defenses built up.  When something unfair happens to her, which it will, she will have no idea how to handle it.  She'll likely fall apart.  Inoculate your children against life by letting them see what goes on and showing them how to handle it.
            3) Teach your children that they aren't the most important thing in the world.  (I know, they are the most important thing to you, but if you aren't careful you'll teach them to act as if they are the world's royalty.)  When I was growing up I didn't always get what I wanted, not always because it was a bad thing or because my parents couldn't afford it, but because it was my brother's turn to choose or Dad or Mom wanted to do something different.  We were also taught to consider how our actions affected others. There was no quicker way to anger Dad than to be noisy when Mom was napping. We were taught to think of others.
            4) Teach your children what work is.  If you live in town, this may be harder – no, I don't consider taking the trash out twice a week and mowing a quarter acre lawn on a riding mower to be work -- but figure something out.  I had good kids as employees who wanted to be good employees, but just didn't know how to work: how to stick with a job, how to see what needed to be done and do it, how to stay busy.  There's an old phrase that really needs to be reintroduced to America's youth: "An honest day's work for an honest day's pay".  Most kids today think that clocking in on time, working while the boss is watching, and talking to their friends the rest of the time is "work".  The company isn't paying them to stand around, and one day they may find out the hard way.
            5) While there are some gray areas, some things are right and some are wrong.  Even modern psychology tells us that children are happier with boundaries—it makes them feel secure.  The same fence that keeps them in, keeps the bad things out.  So teach them some absolute guidelines. Best place to start: your Bible.
            Wow, I've become a cranky old man.                                            
                                                                                                           
Lucas Ward

Possums, or more properly “opossums,” can be a nuisance.  They rummage in the garbage, they poke about in the shed, and they ramble into the garden destroying perfectly good melons with a bite or two out of each one.  That is one reason we have dogs, and Magdi, our first Australian cattle dog, did better than any other at solving the problem  For awhile we had to bury one every day; she must have come across some sort of Possumopolis out in the woods.
            One morning Keith found yet another as he was leaving for work, but he was so late he had no time to properly dispose of it.  It was my turn to do the honors.  I have come a long way in 32 years of country life, but I still won’t pick up a dead thing, even with big thick gloves.  So I got the shovel.
            I am glad my neighbors are not close.  I stuck the shovel edge down by the possum and pushed, assuming it would just slide under the offensive creature so I could carry it out to the woods and let nature do the disposal work.  Instead, the shovel just pushed the possum along.  I tried again, and again, and again.   Every time I pushed, the possum moved farther and I wound up following it in a circle around the field.  This possum might as well have been alive it was making such a merry chase.
            Meanwhile Magdi stood to the side.  She looked at me like I was nuts, but she also looked at me like she would really like to have her possum back.  Occasionally she lunged at the possum as I made the circle yet again passing her on the right.  So there I was pushing a dead possum in a circle around the yard with a shovel, while yelling at the dog at regular intervals, like some sort of bizarre ritualistic dance. 
            I stopped, winded and frustrated, and found myself next to the oak tree across the driveway from the well.  The answer struck me, if only I had the energy left.  I pushed the shovel again.  Again it pushed the possum, this time right against the tree and the tree held it there for me as the shovel slid beneath it.  Success! 
            I lifted the shovel--and the possum rolled right off of it.  Somehow I kept from screaming.  Okay, I told myself.  You have learned something.  Possums are heavy and you have to hold the shovel handle tightly so it won’t tip.  I tried again, pushing the possum up against the tree and lifting the shovel, this time ready for the shifting weight.  Now I just had to get it to the woods.  It was a several hundred yard trip, and that possum at the end of the shovel got heavier and heavier. 
            About halfway there I knew I was not going to make it, so rather than let the thing drop in a clearing where there were no trees to push against, I carefully lowered the shovel to the ground.  As much as I hated to, I had to move my hand farther down the handle, closer to the possum so the weight would be easier to manage.  I did, and it was easier, so much easier I could even walk faster without being in danger of losing the possum.
            I was already dressed for Bible class and did not want to traipse into the woods among the briars and brush, so I carefully pulled back on the shovel and slung with all my might. The possum slid off the shovel about five feet into the brush, not much further than the length of the shovel handle.  By then, I was ready to call that a great success, and left it.
            As shocking as it might sound, that is the way we treat God sometimes.  Instead of rushing into His safe and loving embrace, we keep Him at arm’s length.  Like a teenager who is too embarrassed to act like he loves his parents, we are too embarrassed to let our love for God show to those around us.  We don’t want to look too weird, too strange, too “fanatical.” 
            Early Christians were known for their good works.  In fact, that is how they often gave themselves away to their persecutors.  They looked and acted so differently from everyone else.  No one else was kind and forgiving, even when mistreated.  Would our godly behavior give us away under similar circumstances, or would it lump us in with the crowd because our religion has not “contaminated” our lives?
            Even among ourselves we don’t want to say things that might make people look at us askance.  It’s like the old joke where the new convert sits in the pews saying, “Amen,” and “Praise God,” only to have some older member take him aside and say, “Son, we don’t praise God here.”
            God wants us close to Him.  Think about that for a moment.  Our awesome all-powerful Creator wants a relationship with us.  He made an incomprehensible sacrifice to make it possible.  Maybe we need to be shocked with this analogy, so we will wake up.  When we keep Him at arm’s length like something disgusting, we are treating God like a dead possum.
 
Wherefore also He is able to save to the uttermost them that draw near unto God through Him, seeing He ever lives to make intercession for them…Draw near to God and He will draw near to you,  Heb 7:25; James 4:8a.
 
Dene Ward

On April 12, 1577, Christian IV, who became king of Denmark and Norway, was born.  And why is he important, you ask?  It's a bit of a story, but leads us to today's point beautifully.
             Oslo, the capital of Norway, had been declared such in 1314.  In 1524, Norway became the junior partner in the Denmark-Norway Union.  Internal squabbles had made them vulnerable to a takeover, and this union seemed the easiest way to handle it.  In 1624 the city was destroyed by a fire.  It had been a good distance from the fortress that protected it, so Christian IV, who was considered by the Norwegians a Danish king, moved it closer to its protection and rebuilt it, naming it after himself, Christiania.  (Along the way, the Norwegians decided to become more "Norwegian" and changed the spelling to Kristiania.)
            By 1924, the 300th anniversary of the city, Norway had once again gained its independence and had been so for 110 years.  Being named after a Danish king wrankled a bit.  So on January 1, 1925, Oslo regained its original Norwegian name.  The name of that city meant something to its people, and that's what we are getting at today.
            He called the name of that place Bethel, but the name of the city was Luz at the first, Gen 28:19.
            Jacob had just wakened from his dream of a ladder to Heaven.  God had earlier confirmed the blessing on him that his father Isaac had given him by mistake, proving that while Isaac might have been blind, God certainly was not—the correct son received the blessing.  And so Jacob called that place “Beth-el,” the house of God.
            Fast forward several centuries and Hosea goes to Bethel, where Jeroboam I had set up one of his golden calves by which the people could worship Jehovah, “the god who brought you out of Egypt.”  By the time of Hosea most of them weren’t even pretending to worship Jehovah any longer.  This was full-fledged idolatry.  Hosea refused any longer to call it “Bethel.”
            …Enter not into Gilgal, nor go up to Beth-aven, and swear not, “As the LORD lives.” Hos 4:15.
            Three times Hosea addresses the place that way.  It was no longer “the house of God.”  It was instead Beth-aven, “the house of vanity,” or deception, or iniquity, or evil, or several other translated words, all of which made Hosea’s point quite plain.  Bethel was supposed to be a description of who was worshipped, adored, respected, and revered in that place, and it no longer qualified for the name.  Instead of “Beth-el,” it had become “Beth-aven.”
            So let’s think about this today.  We use a similar description for ourselves:  “church of Christ.”  That means we belong to Christ, we obey him, we worship him, his is the opinion that counts, not ours.  Can you still say that about the group you are a member of?  Or has it become a social group with its own rules and its own “politics?”  Has it become a place where men get together and vote on things that have nothing to do with the mission Jesus left his disciples to complete?  Can you find authority--His authority—for everything you do?  Jesus himself said in Matthew 20 that authority can only come from two places—God or man, and his acceptance of that proves that he expected you to have it.
            Too many times we ask the wrong question:  what is a church of Christ?  The question we ought to be asking is this:  when is a church of Christ?  Is it time to change the sign on your door?
 
And he put all things under his feet and gave him as head over all things to the church, which is his body, the fullness of him who fills all in all. Eph 1:22-23
 
Dene Ward

I know some women who crochet and knit.  I know some women who quilt.  I know some women who draw and paint.  I know some who bake and decorate cakes.  I know women who are gardeners and canners.  I know some who put up wallpaper.  I know others who do tile.  I even know one who can put in sinks and toilets.  And no, those are not their jobs.  Those are their hobbies, or at the very least, things they do because they need to be done, and they regularly use those things to serve others as well.
            I know men who can do wiring.  I know men who can do fine woodworking.  I know men who can solder and weld.  I know men who can take an engine apart, fix it, and put it back together again.  I know men who are gardeners and expert fishermen.  I know men who are marksmen.  And once again, these are not their jobs, but their hobbies which they also use to serve others.
            Meanwhile, I see a generation of children who sit around the house playing video games, or bouncing a basketball on a court all day, or sitting on the porch steps with other kids, shooting the breeze and talking, while doing absolutely nothing worthwhile, nor learning anything useful.  Why aren't we teaching our boys and girls to do stuff?!
            Why aren't we teaching them life skills that they can use to help others?  We certainly have ample examples in the Bible.
            Adam and Eve were expected to tend a garden and live off of it.
            Rachel, Rebekah, David, and the sons of Jacob were expected to know animal husbandry as part of their families' survival.
            Ruth grew up knowing she was expected to work hard, not just for herself, but also for others, even those not blood family.
            Miriam was willing to use her musical and poetic talent to teach the women of Israel.
            Jael and Rizpah learned that being strong and brave, and doing the dirty work was someone's responsibility, and you shouldn't wait around on a man to get it done when you are the only person available.
            Dorcas learned to sew, and with that ability served the church so well that she was the one Peter raised from the dead rather than the recently slain deacon and preacher Stephen.
            I know a man whose plan for retirement is to use his considerable handyman skills to perform free labor for the widows in the church.  He learned those skills as a young man and has become a good steward of the abilities God gave him.  What do you plan for your retirement?  Spending more time serving others, or serving yourself by traveling for months on end, or playing golf several times a week, or going hunting nearly every weekend, or whatever else you think you deserve?  Do you have any plans at all for serving the church now that your time is not taken up with the necessities of making a living and raising a family?
            What do you know how to do?  What are you teaching your children how to do, and more especially, what are you teaching them about their obligations as a child of God to serve others?  Are you even home long enough to do that teaching?
            When it came time to decide if a widow deserved to be placed on the payroll, serving the church every day, what were the qualifications?  If she has a good report for her good works, if she has brought up children, if she has shown hospitality to strangers, if she has washed the saints' feet, if she has given relief to those who were afflicted, if she has devoted herself to every good work (1Tim 5:10).  Why do you think she could do those things?  Because she learned them as a child and, most likely, watched others doing them!  What do your children see you doing?
            God wants us to serve.  He wants children who have learned to do stuff!  And he wants us out there doing that stuff, no matter our age, no matter our wealth, and certainly no matter our social status.  Service is what Christianity is all about.  Let's make sure our children will have something to offer. 
 
That you may walk worthily of the Lord, unto all pleasing, being fruitful in every good work and growing in the knowledge of God (Col 1:10).
 
Dene Ward