Today's post is by guest writer Keith Ward.
 
I think I may have figured out why the ecology-freaks come on so strong. From their viewpoint, bad things are happening to the ecology, the world may not survive; certainly, if we don’t do something, humankind will not survive. There have even been episodes on the History Channel picturing a world without humans.

Since their philosophy leaves no room for God, there is no one to save the world if they do not. If they don’t stop global warming, no one will; there is no God to watch over things. They may even admit that some of their worries may not be as probable as they scream, but they cannot afford to take the chance. They must fix it and right now, lest something happen to end life or the world or…..

So they go around in a constant panic mode, demanding, lobbying, preaching, terrorizing, because they must save the world. Literally, since there is no God, THEY HAVE PUT THEMSELVES IN THE PLACE OF GOD. They are the watchers, the overseers and since they were not designed for that, they can only run about and scream and shout from one crisis to another.

You and I KNOW that God is in heaven and HE is in control. The world will end when he chooses. HE has designed into our creation all the things needed for it to last till HE decides otherwise.

Witness the Gulf oil spill. They ran around and screamed till the oil companies put in chemicals to change the spilled oil. Others said the resultant chemical stuff was more dangerous to the ecology than the natural crude. Turns out that long ago, God created oil-eating bacteria because thousands of gallons of oil seep into the gulf every year from crevices in the sea bed. This is not to say we should do nothing when things go wrong--man has proven his ability to destroy things in God’s creation. It is to say that no man or group has the wisdom to be God, but that is exactly what they are doing.

Someone has to be God. That is the way HE designed us. Do you want God to be the loving one of the Bible or a group of self-appointed scientists? This is what the evolution debate is really about.
 
Claiming to be wise, they became fools, and exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images resembling mortal man and birds and animals and creeping things...they exchanged the truth about God for a lie and worshiped and served the creature rather than the Creator...  (Rom 1:22-25).
 
Keith Ward

The modern pencil was invented in 1795 by Nicholas-Jacques Conte.  Those of us who grew up thinking the black in the middle of a pencil was lead, at least until we discovered the dangers of that material, are wrong.  It has always been graphite, one of the softest minerals there is.  Graphite itself was discovered in Bavaria in the early 1400s, but centuries earlier the Aztecs had used it in chunks to write with.  It took this French scientist, who was serving with Napoleon's army, to construct the first wood-enclosed stick of graphite we call a pencil.
            Erasers were invented after Charles Goodyear invented the process called the vulcanization of rubber.  And finally, on March 30, 1858, Hymen Lipman received the first patent for attaching an eraser to the end of a pencil.  Another piece of trivia for you:  the metal piece holding that eraser is called a ferrule.
            This morning I brought four pencils in here by the desk to sharpen.  I gather them up from here and there, all colors, all brands.  Ticonderoga yellow may be the most famous brand, but I haven't a one of those to my name.  The erasers are all in different levels of use.  A couple already sport one of those separate ones you put on the top because the one they came with is totally flat.
So I will grab my old fashioned school sharpener, the one with the hand crank, and get them all back to their pointy selves and ready for use.  Then I will carry them back to the windowsill next to my chair to use with my crossword puzzles.  No, I do not do my puzzles in ink.  Well, if it's a Los Angeles Times Crossword, even their Sunday crossword, I do.  But a New York Times Crossword—no way.  It will wind up a mess if I try.
            The Los Angeles Times Sunday Crossword is so easy I can do it in ink in just about 15 minutes.  Once in a great while it will take 20.  I might have one or two squares where I have had to go over a mistake in darker ink to correct it, but most of the time it is clean and legible, without a single blotch.  But the New York Times' puzzle takes me nearly an hour and quite a bit of erasing.  If I tried it in ink, I probably wouldn't be able to read it for the mess I made.  I may love to do those puzzles, but I am not an expert by any stretch of the imagination.  You know those people who finish the marathon three hours after everyone else, coming in while the banners and signs are being taken down?  That's me doing a New York Times Sunday Crossword.  All I can say is, I get it done.  And hurray for pencils and, especially, erasers.
            Jesus is my pencil and God is my eraser. 
           The Lord's sacrifice is far larger than we usually give him credit for.  Not to diminish it in the least, but he didn't just die for us and rise from the dead for us, a process that took no more than three days.  He lived a lifetime for us as a human being, experiencing the same trials and sorrows we do.  God, mind you--and he did it without the failings we so often want to excuse because we are "only human."  When we do that, we insult that sacrifice, because he became human and made himself susceptible to sin so he could show us how, to demonstrate that we most certainly can do it, especially with his  example and his help—or will we insult those, too?
            No, life is not a Los Angeles Times Crossword puzzle.  God never told us it would be easy.  He promised us "thorns and thistles" and "sweat of the brow."  He said we would have to kill our old man (crucify it) and become something brand new.  He may have said, "My yoke is easy and my burden is light," but it's still a yoke and a burden.
            But then he tells me that all is not lost if I do fail.  After all, this life is written in pencil if we just repent, get back on our feet, and try again, determined to go farther than the last time, determined to improve—not to make excuses.  If we are not using the pencil the Lord gave us, is it because we have just given up?  Have we lost our confidence and just decided to do nothing at all so we won't make a mistake?  Have we lost our trust in the eraser God uses, the one that will erase that error like it never happened, leaving clean, white paper without even a smudge, ready for the next attempt?  And with his help, we might even get the right answer the next time.
            When we refuse to try, when we make excuses for our failure and refuse to admit our wrong, that's when we are writing in ink.  We can go over it and over it and over it, making it darker and uglier with every try, and everyone will still see the obvious error.  Maybe everyone but the one who needs to see the truth the most--me.  And it can never be erased, if that is the attitude we have.
            Far better to follow the Lord's example.  Far better to be tough and work hard and try again and again and again.  Pencil is, after all, easily erased.
 
If we say we have fellowship with him while we walk in darkness, we lie and do not practice the truth. But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin.  (1John 1:6-7).
 
Dene Ward

When I was a child, my piano teacher was a member of an organization, the benefits of which allowed her students to participate in several events, competitions, and joint recitals.  Fast forward twenty years and, as a piano and voice teacher myself, I rediscovered that organization and joined for the sake of my own students—and they ate it up.
            The stated purpose of the organization is “furthering music education and fostering a musical environment in our communities through the sponsorship of musical events and by providing performing opportunities for our talented and deserving young people.”  In other words, it is a service organization in the area of music.  It’s all about the cultural welfare of the community and the patronage of young artists.
            But as wonderful as that sounds, not every member “got it.”  As I became more and more involved at higher (district) and higher (state) levels, politics and self-aggrandizement reared their ugly heads.  Let me give you an example. 
            In their goal to spread music in the communities, local groups were encouraged to present programs open to the public in several areas:  opera, dance, American composers, women composers, and several others.  As motivation a plaque was awarded to the group who had done the best in each category based upon written reports sent to State Chairmen, complete with printed programs, photographs, and news items.
            One year I was one of those chairmen.  I received a dozen reports of outstanding programs all across the state in the opera category.  Truly every group deserved recognition for their efforts.  In fact, I could have easily made a case for the smallest group, and a rural one at that, because for their lack of resources both monetary and talent, their creativity in making opera palatable to a less cultured area of the state had been astounding.  But of course, it was not quite up to the big city group who had staged a full opera nor another urban organization who had managed to coax nationally acclaimed Met stars to appear.
            At the weekend of the awards I could not make the trip five hours south.  My husband had been shot in the line of duty and besides caring for him, I was also fending off the media and arranging appointments with doctors and lawyers and counselors.  So I sent my choice of winner and a letter of explanation for my absence.
            At nearly ten o’clock that evening I received a phone call from a member of one of the big city groups.  At first I thought, “How sweet.  Yes, it’s late, but she has just heard about our ordeal and is calling to check on us.”  But no, that was the last thing on her mind, if it was at all.  These were the first words out of her mouth:
            “I called to ask why we didn’t win the plaque this year.”
            Clearly this woman did not share the same goals as this organization.  To her it was about acclaim, about winning prizes, about being number one among her brothers and sisters.  And just as clearly, other people’s problems, no matter how dire, did not matter to her one bit.
            I hope that little story makes you shake your head in disgust, and after you have done that, ask yourself these questions:
            Why am I a Christian?
            Do I serve others?
            Do I do things for the church I assemble with, serving in whatever capacity is needed?
            And more to the point:
Have I ever been miffed because MY name wasn’t mentioned?
            Have I ever stopped speaking to someone who did not thank me as I thought I deserved?
            Have I ever stopped visiting or calling or helping someone who didn’t return the favor?
            Maybe we all need to remember the example the Lord set, not just that one night in the upper room washing even Judas’s feet, or even those hours on the cross, but every morning he opened his eyes on this earth among people who hated him, ridiculed him, assaulted him, tried to kill him, and eventually did.  And we need to remember why he did it.  It certainly wasn’t for a plaque!
            This organization he set up, the one he called “mine” (Matt 16:18) has a purpose that has nothing to do with my glory.  It is the greatest purpose of any group anywhere—the salvation of mankind, no matter what it takes from me in terms of service or sacrifice. 
            Yes, if we are faithful we will receive a prize.  But if the prize is the only reason we are doing it, then the prize is the very thing we will not receive.
 
So I endure all things for the sake of those chosen by God, that they too may obtain salvation in Christ Jesus and its eternal glory. 2Tim 2:10
 
Dene Ward

I lost a dear friend a few years ago.  She was 17 years older than I, but despite that we were two peas in a pod.  She was my sister in the Lord, my mentor, my adviser, and my confidante.  I counted on her in my Bible classes to support me from her seat, and she did so regularly.  Her wisdom made her able to see when a discussion was going off the rails or down too many rabbit holes and she deftly, and almost invisibly, brought us back on track with a good comment or question.  If a problem student began to cause unrest with sharp words or a factious spirit, her calm words usually quieted things down and kept me from having to be "the bad guy."  I counted on her like no one I had ever counted on before, except my husband.  When we lost her to heart failure, I felt an emptiness and despair I have rarely felt any other time in my life.
            Let me quickly add, she was not just a parrot, supporting anything I said without a thought just because I said it.  I will always remember the day she taught me to stop being so judgmental.  I never thought I was, mind you.  I avoided it as much as possible--I thought.  But it is easy to overlook your own faults and even easier to see the mistakes that others make.
            We were discussing assembling.  How many times had I used the argument, "If you truly love the Lord, why don't you want to be with his people, learning more about his word as often as possible?  How can you feel that way and claim to be his servant?"
            "When I was a young Christian," she quietly began, "I never thought about attending the Sunday evening services.  I knew it was a good thing that others did, but it just never dawned on me that I needed to go."  This was a woman who embodied the Christlike spirit in everything she did.  She was kind, generous, and loving.  If there was a need for food, she cooked.  If there was a need for visiting, she visited.  If anyone needed a place to stay, her home was open.  If anyone had a monetary need, she and her husband were the first ones there with a check.  All the preachers had her support in word and deed, and the elders as well.  This was not someone who was looking to do the minimum and still call it "service" as so many seem to.  I could not question her love for the Lord and His people, and her neighbors as well.  People flocked to her in droves, including little children.  How could I ever accuse her of forsaking her Lord?  What I had thought were obviously bad motives were not.  It had just never crossed her mind that she should do this.
            Later in life she began attending those evening services and taught others that they should do the same.  And because of her, I learned to be patient and stop judging the motives of others as I had for so long.  Now as I look at the great divide over the Covid virus, I see the same things—young people who see the older as faithless, and older folks who see the younger as unloving.  While that may be the case for some, may I dare to suggest that both of you might possibly be wrong?  Not being able to see things from another angle is not something to celebrate and brag about.  Each group must respect the other:  Let not the one who eats despise the one who abstains, and let not the one who abstains pass judgment on the one who eats, for God has welcomed him (Rom 14:3).  If we cannot apply this to our own day's problems, why has it been saved for us?  After this instruction not to judge (either side), Paul goes on to tell us why we have no right to judge:  Who are you to pass judgment on the servant of another? It is before his own master that he stands or falls. And he will be upheld, for the Lord is able to make him stand (Rom 14:4).  You're getting too big for your britches, he says.  You have no right to judge God's servant in these kinds of matters.  And don't tell me he is only talking about opinions but your judgement is about matters of faith.  He was talking about people who couldn't help but worship idols when they ate meat—that's idolatry, not some opinion (1 Cor 8:7).
            Take a good look at yourself.  Are you judging people as having evil motives?  You are when you say a man of high risk is faithless for staying home from the assembling.  Are you judging people as lacking compassion?  You are when you take their statements that they feel the necessity of assembling regardless the danger as an aspersion on you.  I wish you had a friend like mine who made me see myself clearly.  I hope maybe I have been able to help you that way today.
 
Do not speak evil against one another, brothers. The one who speaks against a brother or judges his brother, speaks evil against the law and judges the law. But if you judge the law, you are not a doer of the law but a judge. There is only one lawgiver and judge, he who is able to save and to destroy. But who are you to judge your neighbor? (Jas 4:11-12).
 
Dene Ward

The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory was owned by Max Blanck and Isaac Harris.  It occupied the top three floors of the Asch Building on the corner of Greene Street and Washington Place in Manhattan.  It was the typical sweat shop of the early 20th century.
            Young immigrant women who spoke no English worked in lines of sewing machines twelve hours a day, seven days a week, for which they were paid $15 a week.  As for safety, only one of the elevators was functional and it was a long narrow corridor away from the workshop.  Two stairways led to two doors.  One was always locked, and the other opened only inwards.  The fire escape was too narrow for safe evacuation and there was no sprinkler system.  How did they get away with this?  New York City was full of graft and corruption in its government, especially among inspectors.  Grease a few palms and you could get away with anything.  This was a disaster waiting to happen and happen it did.
            600 workers showed up on March 25, 1911, a Saturday.  It is thought that the fire started in a rag bin.  The fire hose was rotten and the valve had rusted shut.  The one elevator only held 12 and only made four runs before breaking down.  The remaining 550 or so workers were left to fend for themselves.
            The fire was over in 18 minutes, but in those few minutes 49 women burned to death.  36 died in the elevator shaft.  58 died from jumping out of windows, and two others died later from the injuries they incurred, making a total of 145.  Do you want to hear how the injustice continued?  The grand jury indicted the owners for second degree manslaughter, yet at the trial, they were acquitted.  Civil suits were brought and they finally paid $75 per lost life, even though their insurance company had paid them $400 each for their lost workers.  Research more and it will only make you angrier.  Quite plainly, the workers at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory were disposable people who had no dependable way of escape from any catastrophe that came their way.
              Yet another reason for gratitude to our Father in Heaven.  He offers a "way of escape" from every temptation (1 Cor 10:13).   …he will establish you and guard you against the evil one (2 Thes 3:3).  He who called you is faithful; he will surely do it (1 Thes 5:24).
            If God is for us, who can be against us ? (Rom 8:31)  God has promised to never leave us in a position where we cannot escape sin, where we cannot win against the Devil.  That leaves us obligated to make every effort to find that escape, rather than using the strength of the temptation as an excuse.  We can find our way out, and though it may sometimes be difficult, it is never impossible to escape.  God is not liable if we do not.
 
The saying is trustworthy, for: If we have died with him, we will also live with him; ​if we endure, we will also reign with him; if we deny him, he also will deny us; ​if we are faithless, he remains faithful— for he cannot deny himself (2Tim 2:11-13).
 
Dene Ward

And a certain man of the sons of the prophets said unto his neighbor in the word of the LORD, Smite me, I pray you. And the man refused to smite him. Then said he unto him, Because you have not obeyed the voice of the LORD, behold, as soon as you have departed from me, a lion shall slay you. And as soon as he had departed from him, a lion found him, and slew him,   1Kgs 20:35-36.
            If you know your Bible, you know that is only the beginning of the story, but it was certainly the end of it for that second young prophet.  Here is the hard lesson we all must learn:  serving God is NOT for wimps.  Sometimes God asks for difficult things.  Sometimes they seem impossible.  But God expects the impossible from us—the things you cannot do alone, He will help you with.
            First century Christians understood this.  Many of them converted knowing they might be thrown into prison or even the arena within a week.  And us?  We want promises of health and wealth.  We demand a life where no one contracts a serious illness, where our homes never blow away in hurricanes or tornadoes, where jobs are never lost, accidents never happen, and babies never die.  We want the reward now—the perfect life in the perfect place.  Then we will consider serving God.
            It doesn’t work that way and it never has.  This prophet could not believe that God would ask him to strike his fellow prophet.  “Why God would never…” you can hear him thinking just as so many say today.  He found out there was something a whole lot worse when he didn’t have the gumption to do as he was told. 
            I have a feeling that a whole lot of people are going to meet the same lion he did.
 
As they were going along the road, someone said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go.” And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” To another he said, “Follow me.” But he said, “Lord, let me first go and bury my father.” And Jesus said to him, “Leave the dead to bury their own dead. But as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” Yet another said, “I will follow you, Lord, but let me first say farewell to those at my home.” Jesus said to him, “No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God,” Luke 9:57-62.
 
Dene Ward

Keith began losing his hearing in his early 20’s.  He received his first hearing aid when he was 27, and we had only been married 6 months.  At this point, over 45 years later, the doctors say he is now “profoundly deaf,” which means he has reached the 90% mark.  He can stand next to the phone and not hear it ring.  He can wash his face, reach for the towel, and walk out of the bathroom, not realizing the water is still running full blast.  He has a tendency to be loud and sometimes monotone because he can no longer hear himself or his tone of voice.  If he were home alone and a fire broke out while he was asleep, he would not hear the smoke alarm even though it hangs right outside our bedroom door. 
            He used to play the violin more than passably well, but violin requires an ear.  He used to lead singing, but now he changes key in the middle of a phrase without realizing it.  He can no longer hear prayers, sermons, announcements, or comments in Bible classes without reading lips. Hearing is a constant crossword puzzle where his mind fills in the blanks left by his hearing and lip reading –often creating humorous misunderstandings, but that is another story.  All this means that in order to hear he must work hard.  You think a conversation with friends is relaxing. For him it is exhausting.  If he is not feeling well or is already tired, he cannot hear at all, period, because he is not up to the wearying chore of having to “listen” to all the other things he must besides words.
            All of this breaks my heart because I can foresee a time when this man, who loves Jehovah God and his word more than life itself, will no longer be able to actively participate in the group worship of his brethren.  Michal, the wife of David, would be thrilled to be in my shoes—to have a husband who, very soon, could no longer worship God with passion.
            She was Saul’s daughter, a princess royal and now a king’s wife, enamored with the dignity of her position.  How do I know?  Look at 2 Sam 6.  She was married to a man who loved God with all his heart, a man who wrote poetry to God by the yard and sang to Him every day.  Mothers, here is the role model for your little boys.  David was a man’s man in every sense of the word—a warrior king who killed wild animals practically bare-handed, and engaged in heart-pounding, daring battles with the enemies of God--but a man who did not believe that religion made him a sissy.
            After David captured Jerusalem, he brought the ark of Jehovah in, and was so thrilled that his passionate worship had him dancing in the street.  Michal saw him from her window, and later scolded him, “How you distinguished yourself in front of the maidens of Israel today, like any other common man in the streets!”
            David answered, It was the Lord who chose me above your father…I will celebrate before the Lord.  I will become even more undignified than this—I will humiliate myself in my own eyes, but by these same slave girls I will be held in honor.  David understood two things.  First, that it was not his dignity Michal was worried about, it was hers. And second, God demands that pride be left behind when we worship him.  God wants worship with passion.  Despite what you may have heard about the Old Law, he always has.  If I let my pride hold me back, I may as well not bother.  I have always found it interesting that the passage telling us to do things “decently and in order” (1 Cor 14:40) is in the same context as the one that makes it plain that amens from the assembly were the rule not the exception (v 16).
            Do you elbow your husband when he says, “Amen?”  Do you shush him when he sings loudly because you think he is off-key?  Is that any different than Michal?  If you have found a man who understands that faith has nothing to do with weakness and everything to do with strength, who loves the Lord enough to humble himself and worship unashamedly, praise God for your good fortune and encourage him in his worship.  You never know when he might no longer be able to do so.
 
As the hart pants after the water brooks, so pants my soul after you, O God.  My soul thirsts for God, for the living God; when shall I come and appear before God?  My tears have been my food day and night, while they continually say unto me, Where is your God?  These things I remember and pour out my soul within me, how I went with the throng and led them to the house of God with the voice of joy and praise, a multitude keeping holyday. Psalm 42:1-4
 
Dene Ward

This one was written ten or twelve years ago.  I have since found it in several church bulletins, both paper ones and those online.  I think maybe it is the epitome of a "Golden Oldie."

About 20 years ago, we spent a long weekend camping in one of our north Florida parks.  It was cold that November, the coldest weather we had ever camped in, and I was busily trying to remember to pack enough cold weather clothes to keep us warm, especially for a night outdoors.  Unfortunately, I forgot the garment bag that held our Sunday clothes. 
            Not attending services that Sunday morning in the nearby town was not an option for us.  We raised our boys the way I was raised—on Sundays we went to the assembly of the saints, period.  No one ever even thought to say, “Will we attend today?”
            So we walked into the services that morning in jeans and flannel shirts.  We did not even have on our “best” jeans, because we learned early that camping could be a dirty, staining experience.  It was not quite so bad for the guys—one or two other men did not have on ties--but there I was, the only woman in the place without a dress and heels.  And without exception, the women looked at me, turned their heads, and walked away.  None of them ever did speak to me, even after Keith spoke knowledgeably in Bible class, and we obviously knew the hymns.  I tried not to be judgmental, but I kept wondering if they thought we were some poor, down and out family, who had stopped, “just to try to get some money.”  You know why?  Because I had thought the same thing in the past about others who looked like us. 
            I wanted to stand up and say, “My husband preached full time for ten years.  I teach Bible classes and have some Bible class literature in the bookstores.  My children can probably answer more Bible questions than you can!”  I wanted to rub their noses in the fact of their discrimination.  But I didn’t.  Instead, I pondered my own guilt, and wondered if I would have done any better.
            So take a minute and think about your own behavior on Sunday mornings.  Whom do you rush to greet?  Whom do you leave standing, feeling awkward and unwelcome?  Which ones may need the Lord the most?  In fact, which ones might the Lord himself have welcomed the most fervently?  Would we have stood with the Pharisees, rebuking him for eating with sinners?  And weren’t we, in our suits and ties, dresses and heels, once in the same condition?  And couldn’t we find ourselves there again, if we do not follow his example?
 
My brethren, hold not the faith of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Lord of glory, with respect of persons.  For if there comes into your assembly a man with a gold ring, in fine clothing, and there comes in also a poor man in vile clothing, and you have regard to him who wears the fine clothing, and say, “Sit here in a good place,” and you say to the poor man, “Stand there,” or “Sit under my footstool,” do you not make distinctions among yourselves and become judges with evil thoughts?  Listen, my beloved brethren, did not God choose those who are poor as to the world to be rich in faith, and heirs of the kingdom which he promised to them who loved him?  Howbeit, if you fulfill the royal law according to the scripture, “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself,” you do well, but if you have respect of persons, you commit sin, being convicted by the law as transgressors.  For judgment is without mercy to him who shows no mercy, James 2:1-5,8-9,13.
 
Dene Ward
           

One morning as we sat with our last cup of coffee by the fire pit, we spotted a bug as he came crawling out of the wood we had just lit.  Can bugs be groggy?  It was early and he barely moved away in the bottom of the pit, not 5 inches from the flame, and then sat there as if contemplating it all.  Finally, he began crawling again with a bit more speed, not surprising since the fire was catching well now and the heat rising quickly.  He reached the reflector wall we have set up so that we get the heat instead of the entire surroundings, and slowly began his upward crawl.
            "Well, he's safe now," I thought, but thought too soon.  He never reached six inches before he turned around and headed "south" again.  As he closed in on the burning wood, he must have felt the rising heat because he suddenly turned again and headed upward.  He could have even headed sideways and gotten out of the heat, but that remedy seemed to have eluded him.  Up a bit, and back down, up a bit, and back down, again and again.  Then, as the fire really began to blaze, he began running around in circles.  He couldn't figure out which way to go, or perhaps which way was up!  And suddenly he fell into the fire—pzzzt!  A quick sizzle and he was gone.
            I have seen some Christians act like that bug.  They want to play in the fire, but then their conscience gets the best of them and they ease away, not too far, though, because, oh, it's so tempting, so there they go again.  But wait—no!  I shouldn't be here.  But maybe I can for just a little while—and then suddenly, before they know it, and maybe even because of the fire they are playing with, they are gone.
            If you have been playing around with sin, stop.  It isn't worth it.  The "fun" only lasts a nanosecond when compared to eternity, and you may wind up paying dearly for it, even if you don't actually fall into the fire.  And what is so fun about running around in circles not knowing where to go, beset by your conscience, and having to dodge those who care about you?  You will only get in deeper, becoming more and more confused, until you simply can't get out.  You no longer know the way.  And some day, pzzzt!  You will be gone too, and that will be the end of the matter.
 
For if, after they have escaped the defilements of the world through the knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, they are again entangled in them and overcome, the last state has become worse for them than the first. For it would have been better for them never to have known the way of righteousness than after knowing it to turn back from the holy commandment delivered to them (2Pet 2:20-21).
 
Dene Ward

Then Amos answered and said to Amaziah, “I was no prophet, nor a prophet's son, but I was a herdsman and a dresser of sycamore figs, Amos 7:14.
            Amaziah, the [false] priest at Bethel had just told Amos to go back to Judah.  They were tired of his scare tactics, what they viewed as rebellion against their king, Jeroboam II.  That is how we learn of Amos’s occupation.  While some view him as the owner of the sheep rather than the shepherd who actually slept outdoors watching his flock, you cannot get away from the humble position of fig picker.
            Sycamore figs (also spelled sycomore figs) were not the figs of the upper classes, but a smaller fruit, slightly sweet, watery, and a little woody.  This is what the poor people ate.  The only way a sycamore fig would ripen was for someone to pinch it, causing it to bruise.  About four days later it was fit to pick and eat.  Can you imagine anything much more tedious than pinching every single fruit on every single tree in an orchard?  Then going to the next orchard and doing it all again?  And again?
            As I was pondering this in our Tuesday morning class, I suddenly thought, “And isn’t that what happens to us?”  The only way for us to ripen as a disciple of our Lord is to be bruised.  In my ever increasing number of years, I have seen only those who reach their lowest point realize their need for God.  If I am proud, smug, self-reliant, self-righteous, all too sure of my own knowledge, I will never be able to prostrate myself before an Almighty Creator and commit my life, my belongings, MYSELF to Him.  I will never be able to take up the cross of self-denial and self-sacrifice and serve my Savior and my neighbor. 
            Some people have a stronger spiritual sense and can recognize their need for salvation quickly.  Their bruising is a bruising of the spirit that occurs when they recognize their sin and remorse hits them like that proverbial ton of bricks.  Others need a physical bruising.  You see it often when tragedy strikes—a serious illness, a devastating accident, the loss of a loved one.  A bruising in this physical life may be necessary for them to see the need in their spiritual lives.  I have often heard it said by preachers that the best time to reach your neighbor is in a time of tragedy, and the scriptures bear that out as well.
            Isaiah preached imminent destruction.  In the latter chapters of his book he tells those impenitent people that God will be waiting to take them back—not before the calamity, but afterward—after they have been bruised by a physical destruction the like of which they had never seen before.  That, after all, would be the time when they would finally listen.
            For thus says the One who is high and lifted up, who inhabits eternity, whose name is Holy: “I dwell in the high and holy place, and also with him who is of a contrite and lowly spirit, to revive the spirit of the lowly, and to revive the heart of the contrite. ​For I will not contend forever, nor will I always be angry; for the spirit would grow faint before me, and the breath of life that I made. Because of the iniquity of his unjust gain I was angry, I struck him; I hid my face and was angry, but he went on backsliding in the way of his own heart. I have seen his ways, but I will heal him; I will lead him and restore comfort to him and his mourners, ​creating the fruit of the lips. Peace, peace, to the far and to the near,” says the LORD, “and I will heal him. Isa 57:15-19.
            Ezekiel says much the same:  I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep, and I myself will make them lie down, declares the Lord GOD. I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak, and the fat and the strong I will destroy. I will feed them in justice,  Ezek 34:15-16.
            And who does Jesus offer His invitation to:  Come all you who are weary and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you and learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart and you shall find rest for your souls, Matt 11:28,29.
            And so each of us must face our bruising.  The more quickly we yield, the easier that bruising will be, not because trials will cease, but because our humble hearts will accept both them and the help we will have to face them.  We won’t be alone any longer, a state of affairs that only comes to the stubborn, who refuse to surrender to Divine love and protection.  Sometimes it takes a “fig-pincher” to help with the process, someone who, like the prophet Nathan, can stand before us and proclaim, “Thou art the man.”  And like the sycamore fig, we will ripen into the fruitful child of God each of us has the potential to become.
 
He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might he increases strength. Even youths shall faint and be weary, and young men shall fall exhausted; but they who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint, Isa 40:29-31.
 
Dene Ward