I was ten years old the first time I remember anyone calling me “ugly.”  It was Sunday night, just after services had let out, sometime during the school year.  We all stood in pools of manmade light around the little rock church building, the adults talking and laughing together, the children scampering about in the front yard of the lot, usually girls together and boys together, except for the teenagers who stood together in a group off to one side, aloof from it all.  I didn’t do much running because of my vision, so it was easy for a boy to sneak up behind me, pull my hair and say that awful word.

 No, he did not have a crush on me.  That’s what they always told girls like me, that and the ugly duckling story.  I was overweight with a head full of frizzy hair, and big coke bottle glasses that made me look bug-eyed and a little stupid.  When he said it, he meant it.

 Despite my precarious vision, I fled around the side of the building into the blackness of the back yard—no lights to see here, either ugly me or my ugly tears.  I would never have gone back there for any other reason—it was far too scary and I tripped over things right in front of me even in broad daylight, but that dark, shadowy place was where I thought I belonged, because I had seen myself in the mirror and I believed him.  I had also heard several adults talk about my “ugly glasses,” and what a shame it was I had to wear them.  What they didn’t realize was since I could not see at all without them (a +17.5 prescription), they were as much a part of me as my nose or any other part of my face.  They were my eyes, and if they were ugly, so was I.

 Child psychology has come a long way.  We know that children believe what others say about them.  If you tell a child he is bad, he will live up to it.  And if you tell a little girl she is ugly, it will take her decades to get over it.

 So why do we do this thing to ourselves?  Why do we go on and on about being “only human,” as if being made in the image of God were a bad thing?  Why do we constantly tell one another we are “not perfect?”  Why do we introduce ourselves as “sinners?”  Okay, maybe it is a humility thing, but I see too many times when it is something else entirely—it’s an excuse for not doing better.  And the more often we give ourselves those excuses, the more often we will need them.

 Listen instead to the Word of God:

The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, Rom 8:16.

For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works…Eph 2:10.

And, having been set free from sin, [you] have become servants of righteousness, Rom 6:18.

…But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God, 1 Cor 6:11.

But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light, 1 Pet 2:9.

 That’s what you are—God’s work, God’s children, chosen, royal, holy, righteous, sanctified.  Tell yourself that every morning. Look in the mirror and say the words aloud.  We are “called saints” right along with those Corinthian brethren, 1 Cor 1:2.  Stop calling yourself a sinner all the time.  If that is what you believe, that is what you will do, and then find yourself running back into the darkness trying to hide from it all.

 Turn on the light and call yourself by the names God does.  This is an “Ugly Duckling” story that has really come true.  You are His child, and that makes you beautiful.  Now live that way.

See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are. The reason why the world does not know us is that it did not know him. Beloved, we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is. And everyone who thus hopes in him purifies himself as he is pure, 1 John 3:1,2.

Dene Ward

Silas is afraid of dogs.  Who can blame him?  Most are as big or nearly as big as he is and the ones that aren’t have an attitude that is.  Dogs have big mouths full of pointy teeth.  They roar—which is what barks and growls sound like to a small child.  They nip when they play—which doesn’t keep it from hurting.  And licking you is just a little too close to eating you.

 So when he first saw Chloe, Silas’s reaction was to try to climb me like a tree.  No amount of reassurance that she wouldn’t hurt him sufficed.  But by the second day of watching her run away from him, his fear subsided.  In fact, he was no longer sure she was a dog.  One morning as he sat perched on the truck tailgate eating a morning snack and watching her furtive over-the-shoulder glance as she slunk under the porch, he said, “I’m afraid of dogs but I’m not afraid of that!”

 Yes, he decided, some dogs should be feared, but at only 5, his little brain had processed the evidence correctly:  this was not one of those dogs and he would not waste any more time or energy on it.

 Too bad we can’t learn that lesson.  We are scared and anxious about the wrong things.  “Use your brain, people” Jesus did not say but strongly implied in Matthew 6.  “God clothes the flowers; He feeds the birds.  You see this every day of your lives.  Why can’t you figure out that He will do the same for you?”

 Instead we waste our time and energy worrying about not just our “daily bread,” but the bread for the weeks and months and years ahead as if we had some control over world economies, floods, earthquakes, storms, and wars that could steal it all in a moment, as if we had absolute knowledge that we would even be here to need it in the first place.  And the kingdom suffers for want of people who give it the time and service it deserves and needs.  “God has no hands but our hands,” we sing, and then expect someone else’s hands to pull the weight while we pamper ourselves and our families with luxuries and so-called future security.

 And the things we ought to fear?  We go out every day with no preparation for meeting the roaring lion that we know for certainty is out there.  He is not a “just in case” or “”if perhaps.”  He is there—every single day.  Yet we enter his territory untrained and in poor spiritual condition, weaponless, and without even a good pair of running shoes should that be our only hope.  Why?  Because we are afraid of the wrong things and careless about the things we should have a healthy fear for; not because the difference isn’t obvious, but because we haven’t used the logic that even a five-year-old can.

 And what did Jesus say to the people who were afraid of the wrong things?  “O ye of little faith.” 

 What are you afraid of this morning?

“Do not call conspiracy all that this people calls conspiracy, and do not fear what they fear, nor be in dread. But the LORD of hosts, him you shall honor as holy. Let him be your fear, and let him be your dread,Isa 8:12-13.

And do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell,(Matt 10:28.

“Listen to me, you who know righteousness, the people in whose heart is my law; fear not the reproach of man, nor be dismayed at their revilings. ​For the moth will eat them up like a garment, and the worm will eat them like wool; but my righteousness will be forever, and my salvation to all generations,”Isa 51:7-8.

​The LORD is on my side; I will not fear. What can man do to me? Ps 118:6.

Dene Ward

When we moved to our new home in Tampa, we renovated more than the house.  The grass was patchy and thin.  The front walk from the driveway to the door was nearly overgrown with schefflera on both sides.  You almost needed a machete to get through.  The podocarpus were trimmed like a French poodle and the gardenia by the front door nearly covered the front step and rarely bloomed.  The oleanders were spindly and almost bare.  First the sod went in and then out came the oleanders and the schefflera that hid the front walk.  The rest of them we trimmed so we could see out the windows.  We allowed the podocarpus to grow and fill in the strange shapes they had been pruned into and finally, they look almost normal—a sentinel on each side of the garage. 

 Finally, we found what we wanted by the front door—a triple hibiscus that blooms red, pink, and yellow.  Out came the gardenia which had proved such a disappointment, and in went the hibiscus, which has been a beautiful addition to the entry.  Every morning I open the door to count the blooms and the colors.  It is now 6 feet high and fills that spot perfectly. 

 I am especially happy with the hibiscus.  When I was a small child in Orlando, the first house I remember sat at the top of an inclined cul-de-sac, or what most people back then called a dead end street.  It was a two bedroom, one bath concrete block house, painted green with a maroon trim around the roof and on the front screen door.  A back screened porch had been closed in to make a "TV room" as we called it, which left the small front room as a living room where we received our guests, mostly family and church people.  I found the original sale price of the house sometime in the past few years—something around $7000, if I remember correctly.  It couldn't have been more than 900 sq ft.

 Besides the front step, on the left side of the house under the front bedroom windows was an attached brick planter.  My mother grew roses there and something she called "shrimp plants."  You can look it up yourself to find the big fancy name, and picture of the blooms that do indeed look a bit like shrimp.  On the right side of the house, which I always thought was east and only found out was west when I grew up, she had planted a hibiscus with bright red blooms as large as my little girl head.  I must have really liked that plant because I remember it so well

 .  In the last few years of my mother's life, she began telling me stories of both her childhood and mine as a baby and toddler, things I could never have remembered myself.  She said that my Daddy had taught me the names of all the car makes by the time I was three and I could point to any car on the road and tell him what it was.  He enjoyed showing me off to his friends, whom, she said, were amazed.  One time I pointed to a car and told him it was a "Wincoln."  The only problem was, its turn signal was going and they never really knew if I was saying it was a "Wincoln," or it was "winkin'. 

 But more to the point this morning is the time she and I walked around the house on the west side and I saw a hibiscus bloom close to the ground.  She said that I asked, "Mommy, is that a lobiscus?"  It took her a moment to realize that when I heard the name "hibiscus" what I really heard was "high-biscus," so of course a bloom near the ground would be a low-biscus to me.

 Children are smarter than most people credit them.  They make connections that we in our orderly-minded way cannot.  Children with disabilities sometimes learn things that no one ever expected them to be able to do or remember because they come up with ways to do them that no one else had thought of, thinking "outside the box" as we call it as if it were some adult-only possibility.  When you consider that children with parents from two different nationalities can learn more than one language in the first two years of life, it ought not to be such a surprise.

 God knows children far better than some of their parents do.  The things I have seen small children learn will just plain knock your socks off.  And so it shouldn't be such a surprise that God expected children to ask questions and even arranged things specifically for that reason.

 When your children ask you, ‘What does this ritual mean to you? ’you are to reply, ‘It is the Passover sacrifice to the LORD, for He passed over the houses of the Israelites in Egypt when He struck the Egyptians and spared our homes.’ ” So the people bowed down and worshiped Exod12: 26,27.

 Even today, Orthodox Jews, when celebrating the Passover, have their children ask, "The Four Questions," so that the story of God's deliverance is remembered and passed to each generation.

 That was not the only time God set things up specifically to cause the younger generation to ask questions.  After the entire nation had finished crossing the Jordan, the LORD spoke to Joshua:“Choose 12 men from the people, one man for each tribe, and command them: Take 12 stones from this place in the middle of the Jordan where the priests are standing, carry them with you, and set them down at the place where you spend the night.” So Joshua summoned the 12 men he had selected from the Israelites, one man for each tribe, and said to them, “Go across to the ark of the LORD your God in the middle of the Jordan. Each of you lift a stone onto his shoulder, one for each of the Israelite tribes, so that this will be a sign among you. In the future, when your children ask you, ‘What do these stones mean to you? ’ you should tell them, ‘The waters of the Jordan were cut off in front of the ark of the LORD’s covenant. When it crossed the Jordan, the Jordan’s waters were cut off.’ Therefore these stones will always be a memorial for the Israelites”Josh4:1-7.

 And we could go on and on with them.  Surely today we should heed that example and pass on our rituals and commandments to our children, telling them exactly why we do what we do.  One of the saddest things in the world is parents who do not take the time to answer their children's questions, and treat those questions as a bother. 

 Today, take that time.  Tell them why, even if they don't ask.  Maybe you have worn it out of them by not answering in the past.  Show them now that you will answer, and share your God and your faith with the ones who should matter the most to you.

“When your son asks you in the future, ‘What is the meaning of the decrees, statutes, and ordinances, which the LORD our God has commanded you? ’ tell him, ‘We were slaves of Pharaoh in Egypt, but the LORD brought us out of Egypt with a strong hand. Before our eyes the LORD inflicted great and devastating signs and wonders on Egypt, on Pharaoh, and on all his household, but He brought us from there in order to lead us in and give us the land that He swore to our fathers. The LORD commanded us to follow all these statutes and to fear the LORD our God for our prosperity always and for our preservation, as it is today. Righteousness will be ours if we are careful to follow every one of these commands before the LORD our God, as He has commanded us’Deut6:20-25.

 It's amazing what having children can do to you.  You find reserves of strength you never knew you had when their temperatures rise and their chubby little cheeks turn rosy with fever.  You find you can do without sleep or food far longer than you ever expected.  Even more astounding, you find the Mama Bear that has been lurking unexposed your whole life until the very second someone looks at your child cross-eyed, much less actually threatens them. Grandchildren add a totally new dimension to all of this.  At least when your children are young, you are still in relatively good shape physically.  But for your precious grandchildren, arthritic knees, stiff backs, and eye-blurring cataracts will not stop you from your appointed rounds!

 Silas is in high school now, playing his first year on the varsity basketball team.  Living with a house full of men all these years, I have learned enough to know that his defense is stellar, with 2 or 3 steals and 4 or 5 rebounds a game.  He is also an assist "machine," some of which are so crisp and clean they take your breath away.  Besides all that, he makes a few points every game, yet does all of this in usually about 2 quarters since he is not yet a starter—but would be if Grandma had a vote.

 As supportive grandparents, we bought season tickets to the home games and rarely miss one.  Unlike the flag football team—where he is known for his touchdown receptions and interceptions—basketball games are played in a gym.  The home gym is 59 years old and I would bet the bleachers are the same age.  The orangy brown wood is scuffed from years of sneakers, Keds to Air Jordans to Ohtani's New Balance, I imagine.  At the bottom in the middle is something they call a step, which leads you to the top.  Evidently, 59 years ago, people were much taller, or at least had longer legs.  This "step" is higher than my knees, my achy arthritic knees.  So now they tell me to climb on up.  Pardon?  I can barely lift my foot that high, much less actually climb up.  No one is sitting there, I think, so why can't I just sit down myself?  Because, in pretty black stencil are the letters "NOT A SEAT."

 The first time I tried to step up nothing happened.  So I rocked back a step and gave it another try.  Still no go.  At this point Keith lifted on my elbow.  I am here to tell you the elbow is NOT the problem.  A lady sitting to the side on the second row reached out and asked, "Can I help you ma'am?"  I had no idea who she was, probably a fan from the other team, but she was obviously a well-bred Southerner—the ma'am always gives us away.  Meanwhile, the line behind me is growing longer.  Finally, someone—I have no idea who but just as obviously an NFL fan—gave me a "tush push" and I made it up the step.  The remainder of the steps were built for us ordinary folks so I made it to my seat.

 This has happened at every home game.  By now I am the pre-game entertainment that the whole crowd breathlessly waits for.  Even if their own team loses, they get to watch an old lady make an absolute idiot out of herself.  But I do it for my grandson and I would do it every day if I had to.  I went to a flag football game and nearly got creamed by a player going out of bounds as I sat on the sideline.  The young man found out he was really good at hurdles.  I went to a play and sat in front of a wiggly group of kindergartners.  I babysat for 18 days and by the time it was over I could hardly move I was so tired. I "ate" spaghetti and meatballs made of pine straw and rocks.  I kept chicken nuggets in my freezer along with curly fries for one and sweet potato fries for the other, and always kept the cookie jar full.  You do these things when you are a grandparent, and you don't mind a bit if you look or sound ridiculous doing it, if it's tiring, inconvenient, or embarrassing.

 For, I think, God hath set forth us the apostles last of all, as men doomed to death: for we are made a spectacle unto the world, both to angels and men.  We are fools for Christ's sake, but you are wise in Christ; we are weak, but you are strong; you have glory, but we have dishonor. Even unto this present hour we both hunger, and thirst, and are naked, and are buffeted, and have no certain dwelling-place; and we toil, working with our own hands: being reviled, we bless; being persecuted, we endure;1Cor4:9-12

 Paul said the apostles were willing to be made a spectacle for the sake of Christ, his gospel and his church.  How about us?  I am afraid we are too proud sometimes.  Who wants to look different than the rest of the world?  I honestly think that is the real reason for immodesty, not the desire to show off skin.  We just do not want to be different.  My skirts were the longest ones in my high school class, along with two other Christians.  Unfortunately, there were more than two other Christians at the school.  Lucas finally gave up on the high school baseball team because the locker room talk was so vulgar, coarse, and crude.  My own Daddy was ridiculed at work because his language did not match the other workers'.  They called him, "Shucks," but you know what?  I never even heard that word come out of his mouth.

 What are we not willing to do for the Lord because it will affect how we are perceived by our neighbors, coworkers, or unconverted family?  In our old home, we were friends with some Mennonites.  Do you think those women and girls were never stared at when they went grocery shopping?  Their long skirts and modest tops, their hair pinned high in something resembling a snood, definitely garnered attention from others, most of it unkind.  While I do not believe we need to be that careful, I find myself wondering if any of us could take it if it were required by God.  Can we really say we love the Lord our God with all [our] heart and with all [our] soul and with all [our] might (Deut 6:4)? 

 I will do most anything for my grandchildren, just as I did for my children.  I do it because of how much I love them.  Maybe we should ask ourselves if we love God and our Lord Jesus that much.

For the love of Christ constrains us; because we thus judge, that one died for all, therefore all died;and he died for all, that they that live should no longer live unto themselves, but unto him who for their sakes died and rose again2Cor5:14,15

Dene Ward

We did some more babysitting last month, and the first afternoon that we picked up Silas from kindergarten, he came rushing out to the car shouting, “I got purple!  I got purple!”

 In his school every child starts the day on green, and his behavior moves him either up the color chart to blue and ultimately purple, or down the chart to yellow, orange, or red.  Red means mom and dad have to come in for a serious talk.  Usually all the obedient, well-behaved students end up on blue, and everyone is perfectly satisfied with it.  But purple?  Purple takes something extra-special.  It is the height of achievement for a student.  No wonder he came out running, shouting, and grinning a smile as wide as our windshield as we watched him through it.

 Why is it that I can’t have the same glee, the same sense of accomplishment and exhilaration when I overcome a temptation or grow out of a bad attitude?  Why don’t we all come running to share the good news with one another?  I’ll tell you why—because we are a bunch of judgmental grumps, that’s why.  Two things are going to happen if anyone opens his mouth about these things.

 First, someone is going to gasp and whisper to another, “You mean he has trouble with that sin?”  We can’t share our accomplishments when we are afraid people will look down on us, will lose respect for us, and will probably gossip about us at the first chance they get.  “Did you hear about so-and-so?  Did you know he has these problems?”

 Second, someone else will puff out his chest and say, “Tsk, tsk.  Let him who thinks he stands take heed lest he fall!”  We can’t share our successes without someone thinking they have to knock us down a peg because of our “pride,” as they so hastily judge it. 

 In both of these cases, shame, shame, shame on us!  Those are unscriptural, even sinful attitudes.  Gossip, which is nothing less than slander, is included in that horrible list of sins at the end of Romans 1.  And what in the world do we think it means to “Encourage one another?”  It means when a pat on the back has been earned, give it!  Don’t hoard it with the self-righteous notion that we are doing what is best for the person’s soul—“wouldn’t want him to get the big head.”  Would you do that with your children?  Would you never praise them for their successes, but only criticize their mistakes? 

 AA doesn’t do it, and God doesn’t do that either.  And the LORD said to Satan, “Have you considered my servant Job, that there is none like him on the earth, a blameless and upright man, who fears God and turns away from evil?”  Job 1:8.

 The Psalms are full of statements by people of God who know they have done right.  The LORD dealt with me according to my righteousness; according to the cleanness of my hands he rewarded me. For I have kept the ways of the LORD, and have not wickedly departed from my God. For all his rules were before me, and his statutes I did not put away from me. I was blameless before him, and I kept myself from my guilt. So the LORD has rewarded me according to my righteousness, according to the cleanness of my hands in his sight, Psalm 18:20-24.

 Don’t tell me it’s because the Old Testament people did not understand grace and were all about “earning” their salvation by keeping the Law.  “Do not say in your heart, after the LORD your God has thrust them out before you, ‘It is because of my righteousness that the LORD has brought me in to possess this land,’ whereas it is because of the wickedness of these nations that the LORD is driving them out before you. Not because of your righteousness or the uprightness of your heart…Deut 9:4,5.  O my God, incline your ear and hear. Open your eyes and see our desolations, and the city that is called by your name. For we do not present our pleas before you because of our righteousness, but because of your great mercy, Dan 9:18.

 Those people knew they had not earned God’s love and mercy, but they also knew when they had done well in keeping His commandments.  Why do we think it’s a sin to recognize that?  The apostles didn’t.  I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will award to me on that Day, and not only to me but also to all who have loved his appearing, 2 Tim 4:7,8.

 When my grandson came running out that day I could easily have told the difference between arrogance and joy.  Why can’t we tell the same thing about one another?  Why can’t we share victories over Satan and expect others will be just as happy about it as we are?  God wanted us to know we are saved; he wanted us to be confident in our destiny. I write these things to you who believe in the name of the Son of God that you may know that you have eternal life, 1 John 5:13.

 I’ll tell you this, if we are going to “become as little children” and so inherit the kingdom of heaven, we had better stop acting like peevish, petty grown-ups.  With that sort of behavior we will never be able to run down the streets of Heaven shouting, “I got purple!”

Let them shout for joy, and be glad, that favor my righteous cause: Yea, let them say continually, Jehovah be magnified, Who hath pleasure in the prosperity of his servant,Psalm 35:27.

 Dene Ward

Remember Pete the cat?  When anything bad happens to Pete he says, “Oh no!”, and now that is one of Judah’s favorite phrases, with his special little two year old inflection.  The last time we visited, we must have heard it a hundred times.

 When he found one of his toys in the wrong place, “Oh no!”  When his Mr Happy figure fell over, “Oh no!”  When he dropped his cookie, “Oh no!”  When a bean fell off his spoon, when his shoelace came untied, when his wind-up toy train stopped chugging along—all of these merited a loud and pained, “Oh no!”  Everything was a catastrophe for little Mr. Drama King.  But at least he paid attention to his world and he cared what happened in it.  Can we say the same thing about our spiritual world any more? 

 I remember when every member of the church could quote scriptures.  I remember when we all knew the basic Bible stories.  I remember when we understood that Truth was absolute and that our acceptance of and obedience to it determined our eternal destiny.  I even remember when you converted other people by showing them that their denomination’s practices and beliefs were not Biblical.  They would do their best to prove you wrong.  Now no one cares.  They don’t have a clue what they are supposed to believe, and neither do we.

 Now anyone who has questions about a statement from the pulpit, about a teaching in a Bible class, about the words of a new song is judged as having his knickers in a knot, as if it were something of no importance. His upset is inappropriate and unwelcome. He needs to “just calm down.”  He finds himself the object of scorn and ridicule, his concerns swept aside as the foolish rantings of a crochety, usually older, narrow-minded alarmist.  Never mind that this older person has seen things like this before and their inevitable results.  Never mind that he has the wisdom of perspective that the younger not only do not have but cannot have.  He—or she--is not respected, and never listened to.  His “Oh no!” has become the expected song for him to sing and so goes in one ear and out the other.

 God told the prophet Ezekiel that he was to be a watchman for his people.  He was to sound the alarm when he saw the enemy approaching.  Those people thought Ezekiel was crazy too.  After all, who else but a lunatic would lie on his side and dig in the sand, depicting the siege of Jerusalem for day after day after day?  Who else would not speak a word unless it was given him from God for week after week after week?  Who else would pull out a handful of hair, throw some of it to the wind, tie some in his robe, and then stand hacking at the rest of it with a sword?  None of that wacky behavior made what he said false.  God told him that when the people wouldn’t listen—and He knew they wouldn’t--their blood was on their own heads. 

 Maybe it’s time we listened to a few alarmists.  Maybe the alarm is legitimate.  At least they are paying attention while we often go along accepting anything anyone says (or sings) just to avoid trouble.  Maybe someone needs to holler, “Oh no!” once in awhile.  And maybe we need to care as much as they do.

As I urged you when I was going to Macedonia, remain at Ephesus so that you may charge certain persons not to teach any different doctrine, nor to devote themselves to myths and endless genealogies, which promote speculations rather than the stewardship from God that is by faith…For there are many unruly men, vain talkers and deceivers…whose mouths must be stopped; men who overthrow whole houses, teaching things which they ought not… 1 Tim 1:3,4; Titus 1:10,11.  

Today's post is by guest writer Joanne Beckley, regarding one particular adventure while she lived in South Africa.

In deep dark Africa just south of the great green greasy Limpopo River, a sunny day began with pure shock and ended in happiness with, yes, a lump in my throat. Living in a foreign land requires unexpected adjustments of every kind in having to adapt to a different culture that works just fine for this part of the world yet can take us sojourners totally unaware. But these surprises actually mean adventures! And often,joy.

Last night my husband received a phone call reminding two forgetful people that what had been planned last month -- was tomorrow! So Dave rearranged his Saturday schedule in order to be prepared when the teen boys arrived for an all-day Bible class. I prudently made plans just in case any teen girls also came.

Morning arrived, with breakfast nearly over, when suddenly we heard a taxi (a large van) hoot at our gate. The taxi doors opened and out poured 26 LITTLE people! As the children poured through the front door, David had the audacity to whisper, "I believe this is your day!" Somebody lost a minor tidbit in that phone call.

Fortunately the 26 children (ages 5 to 14) and their Bible class teacher passed through the front door and right out the opposite door where they assembled on the lawn under a large tree in our back garden. I went straight to my workroom to regroup. Thankfully, African children are well trained to sit quietly and respond respectfully even to teachers that are in shock, so I knew I would survive. What I didn't realize though was how blessed the day would become.

The teaching day began at 7.30am (please note the time). Armed with five teaching projects, I began, using their teacher Violet Tshikhudo to translate. I don't remember much about the first hour. I think it was because I was still recovering from being told they would be sharing my day until 5pm. That is when the taxi was scheduled to take them all back home. The day was hot and muggy and sticky the WHOLE DAY LONG.

I noticed Dave was hovering, checking on me, smoothing my way in whatever manner he could. He even served the morning tea and washed the dishes afterwards. What a husband! What did I teach? I began with a paper exercise using a very simple time line to help me assess just how much Bible knowledge they had. We were able to scrounge up 10 pencils/pens and five pairs of scissors so the exercise went swimmingly, with everyone working on the tile floor. One hour later (that's one down!) the older children helped the younger ones clean up, and we went on to revise the hand motions for the Bible time periods. Violet had remembered what the Smith family had taught during their visit to South Africa, and she enjoyed the revision. In fact, she stopped me early on and coined the phrases in vha Venda and we all dropped the English.

Because, the children had not had any breakfast, we had a short break for bread and hot tea, their usual fare. Then it was back to the dining  room. I picked up my hand-drawn picture cards to prompt them telling me of Bible stories that contained whatever item was being portrayed. This worked beautifully. It was a nice way to revise with a group that has been well taught. (With each new exercise, I would ask the children why we were using visual aids -- especially to impress on Violet the wisdom of using eye, hand, and ear to increase learning. I have learned that using visual aids is a totally foreign concept to South African teachers, even in the public schools. Therefore, I try to only use items that THEY can reproduce.)

THEN I had them each draw a fish, color it, attached a paper clip, and then write averse on other side. I took them all outside to the "pond" (picnic table) and we fished with a magnet hanging from a stick/string affair to attract the paper-clipped fish,reciting the verse each time a fish was caught. I do believe they would have been willing to continue fishing the entire day, but I was ready to stop after the 15th fish was caught and every verse was recited by each child.

THEN we returned to the dining room floor and I used a lesson from my old 52-lesson booklets that I had made up for our boys back, waaay back, and then had translated. By now the heat was telling on me and I was so thankful that Violet was happy to keep on teaching, using these booklets on the Sermon on the Mount -- while I escaped to the bedroom and Dave turned on the fan.

30 minutes later I was informed it is now time for lunch. Their tea hadn't stuck to anyone’s ribs. Everyone retrieved their knapsacks, dug out their lunches, and retired to the big backyard tree. (I LIKE that tree!)

After lunch I also took them to the kitchen and placed four mixing bowls on the counter and we all made play-dough (flour, salt,water). Choosing the items Jesus referred to in His sermon, we fashioned lamps,altars, eyeballs with a log in one and a speck in the other, wolves and then covered them with a “sheepskin”, and last of all, two houses each. Amidst the laughter and chatter I found it fascinating to see how they visualized making each one of these items, although the lamp and altar had to be demonstrated. Toward the end of this activity, Violet just couldn't stand being on the sidelines any longer and she grabbed a chunk to make her own two houses. She rolled a piece between her hands and curved it over to stand on the counter -- and called it her house. Sure, why not, as they all were reared in round thatched houses. 

Now, came the best part. That afternoon, the children told me they had rehearsed two short plays to present as their gift to me and we all trouped out to the back yard.(Are you still with me?) With running commentary from Violet, I had a delightful time watching 26 children interpret two Bible stories: Samson and Delilah and the Prodigal Son. 

I want to describe the Prodigal Son as interpreted within their cultural understanding. For example, when the son went to demand his inheritance from the father, he knelt down to speak to his father. When the son gathered his fair-weather friends (8 of them) to spend his money, he took them to the shop (manned by four girls) to buy food. The food was placed on the tin plates they had brought with them and my drinking glasses. Then they went to the side to eat the food and afterwards returned the dinnerware to the shop. What had me giggling was their repetition of the phrase, "Keep the change." My laughter turned into understanding when Violet said this is how they understand what wasting your money means. Then the boy and his friends laid down to sleep and one of the friends dipped into the boy’s pocket and shared out the stolen money with his friends. The following morning -- no money and no friends. Seeing a pig farmer with all his pigs (15 little ones) lined up as if to a trough, he went to ask for a job. Taking my old bucket he slopped those pigs well,amidst such a racket of snorting! When the boy tried to also eat from the bucket, one pig pushed him out of the way. Returning home he went to his father who ran to welcome him. The father had his servant place the items on the son who then went to get two of those famous "pigs" for the feast. All the children chimed in whenever scripture was quoted which of course was an impressive amount. Truly a wonderful effort. 

By then it was 3pm (only??) and the children entertained themselves outside with a nice variety of made-up group activities while I taught Violet how to make unleavened bread using a thin aluminum pot on the stove. We used only the typical utensils that she has on hand in her home, and simulated her outdoor cooking fire. I never did convince her to handle the dough lightly, but we did get it rolled out very thin and scored so that it cooked crisp enough to break easily. Sampling afterwards, she pronounced the effort a success and very tasty to boot.

The last hour was spent with The Jungle Book video (they all liked the snake) and then the taxi was hooting at the gate. But wait, they had planned to sing a good-bye song to me before they left. So after each one ran to the taxi and then back to hug me and then back to the taxi, they sat and sang all four verses of "God Be with You"but to a different tune than you are familiar with. I thanked the driver for his patience and waved them off until they were out of sight. (Dave told me later that the driver had charged FULL fare for all those little bodies -- he had made a killing for sure! It caused me to pause and reflect on the sacrifice each family had made just so their children could come to me.)

I now have some wonderful new friends. Let's see, there was Tshinakaho, Rotondwa,Rudzani, Mulamuleli, Shumani, Khathutshelo, Ofhani . . . no, I didn't manage to learn them all. I asked Violet to write their names out for me and then later I read off their names to see who these funny sounds belonged to. And like the rest of us they loved hearing their names spoken.

When David returned (from his afternoon teaching at the prison), he very graciously took me out to eat. Oh, yes, and it rained big time AFTER everyone left. Now that’s a thanksgiving note!I hope you survived the telling. It was a very special day for me.

Joanne Beckley

When we kept our grandsons last spring, twenty-month-old Judah usually climbed into my lap every evening as we sat at the table for a final cup of coffee.  It took me a minute the first time his little hand reached out in the air, but finally I realized he was trying to catch the steam wafting over my mug, and was completely mystified when it disappeared between his chubby little fingers.
  A lot of people spend their lives trying to catch the steam, vapors that seem solid but disintegrate in their grasping hands.  They do it in all sorts of ways, and all of them are useless. 
  Do they really think they can stop time?  Over 11,000,000 surgical and nonsurgical cosmetic procedures were performed in this country in 2013, and we aren’t talking medically necessary procedures.  The top five were liposuctions, breast augmentations, eyelid surgeries, tummy tucks, and nose surgeries.*
  Then there are the folks chasing wealth and security.  Didn’t the recent Great Recession, as it is now called, teach them anything?  Others are striving to make a name for themselves.  These are usually the same folks who tell Christians how pathetic we are to believe that some Higher Power would ever notice we even exist on this puny blue dot in the universe.  Yet there they all go looking for fame, fortune, notoriety, beauty, or even their version of eternal life.  All of it is nothing more than a dream.  It will disappear, if not in a natural disaster or an economic meltdown, then the day they die—and they will die no matter how hard they try not to.  They are the ones grasping at dreams which are only a vapor that disappears in a flash.
  Our dream isn’t a dream at all.  It is a hope, which in the Biblical sense means it is all but realized.  Sin and death have been conquered by a force we can only try to comprehend, by a love we can never repay, and by a will we can but do our best to imitate.  Yet there it is, not a wisp of white floating over a warm porcelain mug, but a solid foundation upon which we base our faith.  Heb 6:19 calls it “an anchor.”  Have you ever seen a real anchor?  If there is anything the opposite of a wisp of steam, that’s it—solid and strong, able to hold us steady in the worst winds of life.  Tell me how a pert nose and a full bank account can do that!
   The world thinks it knows what is real while we sit like a toddler grasping at steam.  When eternity comes, they will finally see that they are wrong.  Spiritual things are the only things that last, the only real things at all.

So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal, 2 Cor 4:6-8.

*Information from the American Society for Aesthetic Plastic Surgery

 On January 23. 1874, Prince Alfred, the son of Queen Victoria, married Marie Alexandrovna, the daughter of Tsar Alexander II of Russia.  The marriage is pictured as a political one, an attempt to calm relations between Great Britain and Russia after the Crimean War, even though the couple had met when she was 15 and fell in love immediately.  Unfortunately, the couple's own developing friction between themselves began to undo those initial feelings and kept much from being accomplished politically.  The continued tensions in Asia and other realms, didn't help much either.  If ever there was an example it's this—what began as a passionate love affair ended with a philandering, and possibly polygamous, husband, and a princess-wife who was a spoiled Daddy's girl" who had absolutely no one in her new family or country who liked her  They stopped trying to please each other and spent their time pleasing themselves.  Even ropes of precious jewels, royal title after royal title, and crowns in her carefully done hair did not give this lonely woman a happy life.  Her oldest son eventually committed suicide and her unfaithful husband died one month after a diagnosis of throat cancer.

 But the rest of the world got something pretty nice from this affair.  For the wedding, two bakers, James Peek and George Hender Frean created the Marie biscuit in her honor.  "Biscuit" in England is what we Americans call a cookie.  (Our "biscuit" is what they call a "scone," simplistically speaking.)  This particular "biscuit" is lightly sweetened and crisp and became an instant hit.  They are still eaten today, even in other countries than England.  Spain has its own special version called Maria cookies.  We have friends from Zimbabwe who have them at tea most afternoons.  If you care to look, you will find recipes all over the internet. So this couple did not leave much of a dent in history, but their cookie did.  It might be a small legacy, but it is keeping their names alive, especially hers.

 What kind of a legacy are you leaving?  Will people still talk about you after you are gone?  I am old enough to have lost quite a few friends to death.  They certainly live on in my memory, but they also live on in the memory of others.  In our women's class we still talk about a widow who spent her last years putting things in order in the meetinghouse every Monday and Thursday.  Lesson plans and bulletin boards were carefully filed, and new letters for those same boards cut out when old ones had finally become too soft and raggedy to use again.  Even a couple of years after her death, we were finding notes she had left on walls and in the storage room about where to put what and how to use those letters without sticking holes in them with tacks!  Another good sister's name always came up when we were coordinating meal lists for the sick and bereaved.  We missed the dishes she always brought, and that made us stand and talk about our favorites of hers for a few more minutes.

 After both of my parents died, people came up to me again and again as we traveled, or sent me notes or emails when they heard the news, telling me about the wonderful things they had done.  I had grown up watching them serve, of course, but I never heard about the things they did in later years after the money crunch eased up some.  They bought pews and hymnals for small churches.  They would walk up to a preacher who had minimal support that he could lose with hardly any notice, and hand him a check "for something special."  They were the first to donate when a need arose.  And when my Daddy was dying, a hospice worker came to check on him one day, commenting on the big shop fan he had in his garage.  "Wish I had one of those," she said.  "Our air conditioner is out."  When she left that day, he insisted she take the fan.

 My mother passed 8 years after he did.  When I was writing her obituary, it suddenly dawned on me that every one of her children, grandchildren, and their spouses were all faithful Christians.  If ever there was a legacy that speaks on for years afterward, it's that one.

 So what are you leaving behind you?  It doesn't matter that you are still young.  When do you think my parents started working on their legacy?  It certainly wasn't a last minute chore.  Those legacies took years to create, and those years pass far more quickly than you will ever believe—until it happens to you.

 If my children and grandchildren remember my cookies, that's fine but I hope they remember the love that baked them.  And I certainly hope you and I both have a far better legacy to leave the world than a tea biscuit.

“Only be on your guard and diligently watch yourselves, so that you don’t forget the things your eyes have seen and so that they don’t slip from your mind as long as you live. Teach them to your children and your grandchildren.Deut4:9

Dene Ward

     I will always remember the day my two year old had a seizure.  His temperature had risen like a rocket and the next time I looked at him, he was obviously in distress.  The first thing I thought was, "My baby is dying."  And the first thing I did?  Nothing.  I just stood there stunned and unable to move.  It took my husband saying, "Go put him in the tub," in a sharp voice to wake me up and get me moving.  After that I was fine.  I undressed him while the tub water ran and laid him down in it, pouring water on him to cool off his little body.  It's a wonder steam didn't come off him.  By then, the doctor had returned our call, told us to wrap him up and head into town.  We found out our old car would do just fine going 90 down those nearly empty country roads, and within minutes of our arrival, the little guy sat up on the examining table with a funny look on his face, wondering I am sure, "How did I get here?"  He doesn't and never will remember my arms around him and my kisses on his forehead, nor my murmuring in his ear, "Mommy loves you, Mommy loves you," again and again.

     I hope I am better now in a crisis.  We have certainly been through enough of them in our lives, but I see others who have the same trouble spiritually.  Grief can put you into a state pf spiritual paralysis, where all you can think about is your loss, reliving terrible things over and over.  Certainly there is a time for grief, and some losses are more difficult to recover from than others.  You will never "get over" them, but at some point we must rouse ourselves to get past them so we can not only serve God again, but serve others, especially those who are going through the same thing and need the help only a fellow sufferer can give.  Isn't this what our Lord did?  (Heb 2:18)

     Sorrow over one's sin can paralyze.  Is it right to sorrow?  Of course it is.  Godly sorrow is a part of real repentance.  Yet when we allow that sorrow to invade our thoughts constantly, refusing to forgive ourselves or worrying whether God really has, both a way of doubting His promises, we may not actually be working for the devil but he is just as happy because we aren't serving God either.  Sometime today, read through Psalm 51, David's first psalm of repentance, and then Psalm 32, a psalm which came a little while later.  You can see the transformation from a man who is practically wallowing in sorrow, to man who has come to not only recognize his forgiveness, but who also has gone back to serving the Lord with a renewed zeal.

     I am sure we can add to this list of things which stop us in our tracks and ultimately keep us from serving God.  Whenever you find yourself in that place, remember: there is nothing healthy about paralysis.  Quadriplegics generally do not live as long as healthier people.  We may need time to recover from a blow, but then we must return, ready to use what we have learned to serve God by serving others, just as we should have been doing all that time before.

O the blessedness of a man,  To whom Jehovah does not impute iniquity,  And in whose spirit there is no deceit. When I have kept silence, my bones have become old, Through my roaring all the day. When by day and by night Your hand is heavy on me,  My moisture has been changed into the droughts of summer. Selah. I cause You to know my sin,  And I have not covered my iniquity. I have said, “I confess to Jehovah concerning My transgressions,”  And You have taken away the iniquity of my sin. Selah. For every saintly one prays this to You,  In the time to find You.  Surely at an overflowing of many waters, They do not come to him. You are a hiding place for me, You keep me from distress, Surround me with songs of deliverance. Selah  Ps32:2-7

Dene Ward