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  Flight Paths

A Green Thumb

7/30/2021

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Today's post is by guest writer Keith Ward.
 People often tell me that I must have a green thumb, usually when I hand them a bag of excess produce from our garden. Well, I do admit to having grown up on an Ozark farm, having two sets of grandparents who were farmers, and parents, too, who gardened heavily. But, if a green thumb is a genetic trait, it seems to have skipped me.
            Our first garden was in the deep rich soil of central Illinois, a no-fail situation. But that and three years in the Piedmont of South Carolina did not prepare me for Florida. “You must not like tomatoes much,” the old Florida farmer said when he saw a dozen plants—all we’d ever needed to eat and to can in other places. Things just do not work the same in this Florida heat.  We learned that we had to plant nearly 100 tomatoes to get what we needed. That “green thumb” came from lots of weeding (or “grassing”) as hoes simply are useless here. Chop off the weed and it will grow back and the chopped part will root with all the rain and humidity. We weeded by hand and carried them out of the garden in buckets. I read books (nothing written north of the Georgia line is of much use), I talked to farmers and other gardeners, I observed commercial operations.
            I tried new ideas provoked by all of these. But, above all, I over-planted. I figured that in a bad year, we might still have enough for us; in an average year, or even in a good year, I never had a problem giving the excess away. Two different years after we thought we’d learned, we lost most all our tomatoes, once to a soil bacteria and once to too much rain. We planted corn in 3 or 4 different patches in hopes that one or more would produce well, and to spread out the harvest. Too much rain burst tomatoes and watermelons and washed the flavor from cantaloupes. The soil here has no nutrients, fertilize and then fertilize again and again, or harvest puny crops.  We moved the garden spot about 100 yards and had to learn over for we went from a too wet soil to a garden that is wilting two days after an inch of rain. I  seriously considered getting a mule to help me drag hose, I was watering so much.
            That “green thumb” people attribute so casually sure came with a lot of mistakes and sweat. Probably anyone who will put in the labor and the persistence to learn can have a green thumb.
           “I wish I had your Bible knowledge,” people sometimes say. Most of them could. It came exactly the same way the “green thumb” came. Study and skull sweat. Outlining sermons and Bible classes in my head while weeding that garden or splitting firewood. Teaching and having someone take me aside and explain the Word more perfectly. Researching and writing articles carefully so they would not bite me 20 years later (Pay heed those of you who are quick to post on fb).
            I try to give it away but they say, “Your classes are too deep,” those who have been on the pew for decades. I go to the prison and inmates who never heard Jesus except as a curse hear the same teaching gladly.
          The green thumb came because it was grow it or be hungry. Maybe if people understood, really understood, not just the “right answer” kind of understanding they give in church,  that Bible knowledge is more critical than eating, they could learn too.

Work not for the food that perishes…..
I am the bread of life…..

As newborn babes long, you long….
 Keith Ward

 
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A Half-Rotten Tomato

7/29/2021

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Canning tomatoes is one of the more difficult garden season chores.  You wash each and every tomato.  You scald each and every tomato.  You pound ice blocks till your arms ache in order to shock and cool each and every scalded tomato.  You peel each and every tomato and finally you cut up each and every tomato.  How many?  In the old days about 5 five gallon buckets full, enough to make 40+ quarts.  Then you sterilize jars, pack jars, and process jars.  Only 7 jars fit in the canner at a time, so you go through that at least 6 times.
            And you will have more failures to seal with canned tomatoes than any other thing you can.  As you pack them in, pushing down to make room, you must be very careful not to let the juice spill over into the threads of the jar.  And just in case you did that heinous crime, you take a damp cloth and wipe each thread of each jar.  Tomato pulp will keep a perfectly good jar, lid, and ring from sealing.
            In order to have that many tomatoes you must be willing to cut up a few that are half-rotten, disposing of the soft, pulpy, stinky parts—and boy, howdy, can they stink!—in order to save sometimes just a bite or two of tomato.  Now that there are only two of us, I usually limit myself to 20 + quarts.  I still put one in every pot of spaghetti sauce, one in every pot of chili, and one in every pot of minestrone, as well as a few other recipes, it’s just that I don’t make as many of those things as I did with two big boys in the house.  Now I can afford to be a little profligate.  If I pick up a tomato with a large bad spot, I am just as likely to toss the whole thing rather than try to save the bite or two that is good, especially if it is a small tomato to begin with.  Why go to all that work—washing, scalding, shocking, peeling, cutting up, packing—for a mere teaspoon of tomato?
            But isn’t that what God and Jesus did for us?  For narrow is the gate, and straitened the way, that leads unto life, and few are they that find it. Matt 7:14.
            The Son of God, the Lord of Lords, the King of Kings, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Phil 2:6-8.  And he did that for a half—no!--for a more than half rotten tomato of a world.  He did that to save a remnant, a mere teaspoon of souls who would care enough to listen and obey the call. 
Sometimes, by the end of the day, when my arms are aching, my fingers are nicked and the cuts burning from acidic tomato juice, my back and feet are killing me from standing for hours, and I am drenched with sweat from the steamy kitchen, I am ready to toss even the mostly good tomatoes, the ones with only a tiny bad spot, because it means extra work beyond a quick slice or two.  Aren’t you glad God did not feel that way about us?  It wasn’t just a half rotten world he came to save, it was a bunch of half rotten individuals in that world, of which you and I are just a few.
 But what is God's reply to him? “I have kept for myself seven thousand men who have not bowed the knee to Baal.” So too at the present time there is a remnant, chosen by grace. Rom 11:4-5

Dene Ward
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July 28, 2003--Garbled Words

7/28/2021

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Yet another technological advance is supposed to be making our lives easier—Keith now has a closed-captioned phone.  Now he can make his own phone calls.  Before, I spent hours on the phone because I had to do all of it.  When you add waiting on hold or for call backs, there were days I felt like a prisoner in my own home.
            Closed captioning has a long history.  Similar things actually began in the late 1800s with the intertitles (subtitles placed between scenes) of the silent movies.  Here is another little piece of information.  Subtitles are dialog-only while captions include things like atmospheric noises.  Open captions are permanent.  Closed captions can be turned off by the user.
            Once talkies started in the 1920s, the need for intertitles and subtitles ran out.  This made movies impossible for the deaf.  A deaf actor named Emerson Romero, brother of actor Cesar, found himself out of a job because he could not speak well enough when in the silent movies that did not matter.  He found a new passion instead.  He pushed for keeping the subtitles for the deaf community but did not get very far with it.  Still, it did influence things in later decades.
            The first captioning agency, The Caption Center, was founded in 1972 at WGBH, the public television channel in Boston.  Due to their work, the first captioned television program aired on March 16, 1980--The French Chef with Julia Child.
            All this eventually led to captioning for telephones.  I found half a dozen dates, but it seems that the patent for a captioned phone was first applied for on July 28, 2003.  That patent was approved and issued to Robert Engelke, Christopher Engelke, and Kevin Colwell on April 26, 2005.
            However, this voice recognition technology is not the perfect cure.  For one thing, it takes a minute sometimes for the captions to register and print up on the screen.  Recorded menus will not wait a minute for the computer to recognize the words and print them, and then for the caller to read them.  By the time the whole process has occurred, the pleasant little voice will be saying, “I’m sorry.  I didn’t catch that,” and unlike a real person, you can’t interrupt and explain.  I still have to deal with the menus for Keith.
            Then there is the machine’s inability to recognize every word.  If a speaker is not loud enough, all you get is “Voice unclear.”  If a word or name is odd, it will come up with the closest “normal” name it can find in its vocabulary.  I have been everything from “Jane” to “Jeanie.”  And if the word is something not in a dictionary, like a brand name or company name, the machine goes completely haywire.  Not long ago, Keith had to call a man about our septic tank.  In the course of the call, the man recommended we use Rid-X.  What did the machine print on the screen?
            “You’ll have to put some rednecks down their once a month.”
            Yet another time when I was talking to Lucas, the machine told me something about a “pork picture.”  Lucas had said nothing even remotely close to cameras or ham.  But the computer decided he had, simply because his speech was a little garbled at that point in the conversation.  He was a little excited, talking quickly.
            It doesn’t have to be a closed caption system to show us our words are a little garbled occasionally, especially when we stop and think about what we just said.  Think about prayer for a moment.
            I’ve heard people say, “I don’t want to bother God with my little problems.”  Did you really say that?  You don’t want to “bother” God?  As if you think that God considers hearing from His children a “bother?”  Is that actually how you feel about your children?  Haven’t you read the parable of the unjust judge?
            And he told them a parable to the effect that they ought always to pray and not lose heart. He said, “In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor respected man. And there was a widow in that city who kept coming to him and saying, ‘Give me justice against my adversary.’ For a while he refused, but afterward he said to himself, ‘Though I neither fear God nor respect man, yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will give her justice, so that she will not beat me down by her continual coming.’” And the Lord said, “Hear what the unrighteous judge says. And will not God give justice to his elect, who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long over them? I tell you, he will give justice to them speedily. Nevertheless, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?  Luke 18:1-8
            If an unjust judge will pay attention to someone who “bothers” him, certainly a loving God will pay attention to someone He does not consider a bother at all.  In fact, he will give justice “speedily.”  Don’t think you are saving God trouble and merely being considerate.  Jesus said that when we won’t lay all our troubles on a Father who loves us, that the problem is a lack of faith, not an abundance of courtesy.
            And sometimes I hear, “God has too much to worry about without me unloading all my problems too.”  Once again, a lack of faith cloaked in consideration.  If you believe God is who He says He is, you cannot give Him too much to do.  In fact, the very wonder of it is that He pays attention to us at all!  What is man that you are mindful of him, and the son of man that you care for him? Psalm 8:4.  But pay attention He does, and He has the power to take my problems and your problems and everyone else’s problems and fix them in the blink of an eye.
            And I could go on with some of the thoughtless things I have heard—and said.  Sometimes our words are garbled.  They simply don’t make sense.  It would behoove us to listen to ourselves once in a while and straighten them out, because they certainly don’t give a pretty picture of our hearts.
 
​The good person out of the good treasure of his heart produces good, and the evil person out of his evil treasure produces evil, for out of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaks. Luke 6:45

 

Dene Ward
 
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Carrying A Lamp

7/27/2021

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Then the kingdom of heaven will be like ten virgins who took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish, and five were wise. For when the foolish took their lamps, they took no oil with them, but the wise took flasks of oil with their lamps, Matt 25:1-4.
             Every time we hear this parable the same point is made—it was foolish to have no oil for their lamps.  But one thing has always struck me from the outset of this little story.  Why were they carrying lamps in the first place if they didn’t also pick up some oil?  It’s like carrying a gun in a dangerous place but no ammunition.  It’s like carrying a hair dryer to a primitive campsite.  It’s like peeling a five pound bag of potatoes with no pot to cook them in.  Why bother? 
Does that mean the story isn’t valid?  Nope.  I see those same foolish people every Sunday.  They get up early to come to church and sit on a pew and a listen to the preacher—but they have made no commitment to God, to their Lord, or to their brothers and sisters.  They do absolutely nothing all week long—no Bible reading, no praying, no serving.  They live exactly the way they want to live, and usually don’t get caught.  Or maybe they are relatively moral, having been taught by their parents to be good people—not because God requires righteousness of His servants.  In fact, God is the last person on their minds in every decision they make.
            What’s going to happen when the trumpet sounds?  They will suddenly realize they did not bring any oil.  They carried a lamp every Sunday and somehow thought it would light itself or give off light simply because it was a lamp, or who knows what irrational reason. 
            You know that word translated foolish?  It means “stupid.”  It’s the word moros.  Look familiar?  I think it’s the word we get “moron” from.  Don’t be a moron.  If you plan to carry a lamp, put some oil in it.  And, according to the parable, carry some extra.  Sitting on the pew never has saved anyone, and it won’t save you.

What to me is the multitude of your sacrifices? says the LORD; I have had enough of burnt offerings of rams and the fat of well-fed beasts; I do not delight in the blood of bulls, or of lambs, or of goats. “When you come to appear before me, who has required of you this trampling of my courts? Bring no more vain offerings; incense is an abomination to me. New moon and Sabbath and the calling of convocations— I cannot endure iniquity and solemn assembly. Your new moons and your appointed feasts my soul hates; they have become a burden to me; I am weary of bearing them. When you spread out your hands, I will hide my eyes from you; even though you make many prayers, I will not listen; your hands are full of blood. ​Wash yourselves; make yourselves clean; remove the evil of your deeds from before my eyes; cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice, correct oppression; bring justice to the fatherless, plead the widow's cause
,
Isa 1:11-17.

 
Dene Ward
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Book Review:  Cold Case Christianity by J. Warner Wallace

7/26/2021

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I have heard the evidences for the New Testament and the resurrection of Christ many times in many sermons and read them in many books, but the sub-title to this book tells us what makes it unique:  "A Homicide Detective Investigates the Claims of the Gospels."  Det. Wallace is indeed a homicide detective, a cold-case detective in fact, and approaches the evidence from that perspective.  Two thousand years may be the coldest case he has ever investigated!
            In this book he teaches us how to evaluate both evidence and witnesses.  He takes you step by step through the process, the same process he uses as a detective, the same process jurors are instructed to use when evaluating the evidence for a verdict.  Along the way, he also gives us real-life examples from the homicides he has worked.  Those examples help you see as you may never have before, the power of the evidence we have for our faith.  As he says several times, both in the book and on its cover, "You can believe because of the evidence, not in spite of it."
            You may have a problem or two with his doctrinal beliefs, but that is really not the strength of this book anyway.  Read it for what it's meant to do and you will be fine.
            Cold-Case Christianity is published by David Cook.
 
Dene Ward
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Chloe's Path--The North Side

7/23/2021

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And now we head east along the final leg, the north side of the property.  We used to drive in that way, straight down the drive and across the top of the property to the front door. That was before we had a summer so wet we kept getting stuck in mud halfway up our hubcaps.  Somewhere along that north side is a spring that only appears during wet season and a neighbor had to pull us out of it with his tractor several times before we finally cleared a higher road we could count on that comes to the back door instead of the front.  I keep telling people I would never put my washer and dryer in my foyer, but few seem to get it.
            That wet weather helped us discover another problem.  The property directly north of us drained all over us.  We are on a slight grade, one you hardly notice until a summer downpour comes washing down from the neighboring land.  I will never forget the day I stood at the front door and watched a six inch deep torrent rush under the house, then raced to the opposite windows to see it come churning out.  I knew we were in big trouble.  The summer rains had barely begun and we were also in the middle of hurricane season.  In short order we would be washed away.
            We have a law, at least here in Florida, which says you are responsible for what your property does to neighboring property.  One of the neighbors found out the hard way when they did something on their property that left another neighbor in an undrainable, and un-drivable, swamp.  The ones who caused the situation refused to fix it.  “It’s not our problem,” they said. The neighbors who could no longer access their home had to call the sheriff, who sent out deputies to tell those selfish folks, “It is too your problem—you caused it,” and to make them repair the mess so their neighbors could once again get in and out of their land.
            The owners of the land just north of us, people who had bought it as an investment and did not live there, knew about that law, too.  All we had to do was make a phone call, and they sent out the equipment to dig a ditch along that north side that led straight to the run on the east where we started this walk, so their land could drain around us instead of through us.  Yes, it was a law, but at least we didn’t have to call the sheriff to get them to act.  In fact, they were quite nice about it and did not leave until they were certain we were satisfied.
            God has a law too.  It goes like this:  ​“Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him if a great millstone were hung around his neck and he were thrown into the sea. Mark 9:42.  Paul spent a couple of chapters in both Romans (14) and 1 Corinthians (8) telling us the same thing.  Everything we do has an influence on people who see or hear us, whether we know they see or hear us or not. 
            I’ve heard people say things like, “I can do whatever I want to do.  That’s his/her problem.”  No, it isn’t.  It’s your problem when you want to claim to be a disciple of Jesus but do not follow his example.  We who are strong have an obligation to bear with the failings of the weak, and not to please ourselves. Let each of us please his neighbor for his good, to build him up. For Christ did not please himself, but as it is written, “The reproaches of those who reproached you fell on me.” Rom 15:1-3.
            We influence people for good or ill by what we wear, how we speak, how we react to others, especially the unkindness of others, and any number of other things. God expects us to be aware of how our speech and behavior effects the world, and not only that, to care.
            Wouldn’t it be a shame if the world had to call “the Sheriff” on us?
 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. Rom 14:12-13.

 
Dene Ward
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Chloe's Path--The Gate

7/22/2021

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We have reached the northwest corner where the gate opens onto our property and leads guests down a narrow drive, past the wild corner, a shady field, the grapevines, the jasmine, and between two azaleas that stand as sentries to our yard.
            Thirty years ago we didn’t have a gate, or a fence to attach it to.  The titles on the land parcels back here off the highway were not free and clear, except for ours, so our boys grew up wandering over twenty acres in every direction.  They swam in the run and climbed trees in the groves that now stand on other properties.  They hunted and explored, and we cut our Christmas trees from the uninhabited woods around us.
            Then the titles were cleared up and people began buying and moving in.  Suddenly we had to deal with neighboring cows breaking through their fences and wandering our way to find good grass to eat, with pet pot-bellied pigs rooting in our garden, with donkeys braying loudly outside our windows, and packs of stray dogs terrorizing ours.  So we scraped up the money we had been saving over the years and put in a fence, with the gate at the road we had driven down long before anyone even knew there was a road there.  Now we can protect what is ours from wandering livestock, and the lock on the chain is especially nice during political season.
            The gate is a two-banger.  The larger portion is a standard cow panel, 16 feet wide.  But that isn’t enough space for a tractor pulling a cultivator and sprayer, which an old friend used to plow and treat our garden once a year.  So right next to the larger gate is a smaller one opening from the middle that adds 4 feet and just enough room for the equipment to come through.
            Jesus had some things to say about wide gates and narrow gates.   One thing I have noticed about wider gates.  It isn’t just that more people can get through them.  It’s that they can get through quickly.  Narrow gates stay that way because they are seldom used, and when you see one, the very smallness of it makes you hang back and consider.  Maybe you’ll poke your head through trying to make out what’s down there, but it still takes considerable thought before you will go down a place that not only few go, but they don’t go quickly.
            Wide gates on the other hand?  People go through them in a headlong rush simply because everyone else does.  Someone famous wears a certain color and before two weeks have passed everyone is wearing it.  A celebrity eats at a certain restaurant and the next week there is a line a mile long.  Someone posts a video on Facebook and it goes “viral.”  As soon as anything gets approval from a popular source, people can’t get enough fast enough.  It’s a mania, a craze.  Would you look at those words a minute?  No thinking at all involved in those words, unless you classify insanity as a thought process.  Jesus, on the other hand, expects his disciples to be thinkers.
            Star Trek always starts with a prologue ending in these words:  to boldly go where no one has gone before.  Isn’t that what Christianity is supposed to be?  Except for this one, critical, factor:  someone has gone before us.  He tells us that yes, it’s safe, at least in an eternal sense, and yes, you can do it too.  The gate may be narrow and seldom entered, but that is what makes us special, something besides robots in a cookie cutter world. 
            Today take a moment to think before you choose.  A quiet stroll with the Lord in a narrow shady lane may be just what your soul needs. 
 
​“Enter by the narrow gate. For the gate is wide and the way is easy that leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many. For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few. Matt 7:13-14.

 
Dene Ward

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Chloe's Path--The West Side

7/21/2021

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About two-thirds of the way across the south side of the property, the path cuts across diagonally to the west side.  This avoids the wooded, tangled corner we have left that way for the wildlife—at least until all the townies moved out.  That corner used to be a habitat for deer, turkeys, quail, foxes, armadillos, and warrens of rabbits, along with a bobcat or two passing through.  The quail have disappeared, the rabbits have thinned out—if you can imagine such a thing—and about all we have left are the occasional turkey and deer and a very occasional fox.  I suppose nothing will ever rid us of the armadillos and possums.
            On the inside of that section where the cut-off turns north to the driveway, stand four live oaks all growing out of the same spot.  I am not certain if it is one huge tree with four large trunks or four smaller trees that have finally grown into one.  Lucas and Nathan called it “the fort.”  Growing up they played in, on, and around it.  You can climb up between the trees on a sort of ledge that hooks them together, and climb my little guys did. 
             The “fort” was not always a fort.  Sometimes it was a castle, sometimes it was a spaceship, sometimes it was a hideout, but it was always a source of imaginative entertainment for little boys who didn’t have a whole lot else except sticks and roots shaped like pistols, rifles, ray guns, phasers, and bazookas—at least to them.
            This past year my grandsons Silas and Judah finally reached the age that they could enjoy the fort.  Uncle Lucas got them started, showing them how to turn ordinary bark, sticks, and tree knots into weapons, controls, and push buttons.  Now they clamber all over that same clump of giant oak trees, grown even closer together now that they are older, with even more ledges and platforms to stand on and jump off.  It feels good to walk by that old favorite spot of my boys and know that a new generation is enjoying it too.
            This will probably be the last generation of Wards to know the magic of that special spot.  Neither of the boys is in a position to move back to this acreage and we will probably reach a point where we can no longer take care of it before the new generation even grows to adulthood.  We will need the money it brings to buy us a smaller, easier place to live. 
            Think about that the next time you assemble with your brethren.  I don’t mean think about how the next generation will use the building or whether they will understand the sacrifices made to build it, the men who made it their business to watch over the construction, the women who furnished the classrooms and dolled up the restrooms the way men would never even think to.  Think about what goes on in that building.  When all of the older generation is gone, the ones who fought the battles and stood for truth no matter how unpopular it was, will the younger generation even know what that truth is?  Will they understand the thought processes that produced a generation of faithful men and women?     
           Maybe some other family will someday own our land and figure out what that group of live oaks “really” is even with no one to tell them, but somehow I doubt that a generation so used to the here and now of social media and the pizzazz of loud, splashy entertainment that leaves no room for imagination will even have a clue.  Tell them it’s a spaceship and they will likely look at you like you’re nuts.
          Far more important is to be able to tell the next generation of Christians that “this”—whatever this is at the moment—is truth, and have them comprehend its importance.
 
You then, my child, be strengthened by the grace that is in Christ Jesus, and what you have heard from me in the presence of many witnesses entrust to faithful men who will be able to teach others also. 2Tim 2:1-2
 
Dene Ward
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Chloe’s Path—The South Side

7/20/2021

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​When we hit the corner we turn right along the south fence, just behind the old pigpen.  We haven’t had pigs since the boys left home—it would take the two of us a couple of years to go through a whole pig, but with teen-aged boys we managed easily in just a few months.  Pork chops, ribs, hams, sausage, bacon, bacon, and more bacon.  They grew up pork lovers and are to this day.

            Yes, we named our pigs.  We always called the males Hamlet, and the females Baconette, except the year we had two boys and the extra one we named Ribster.  It reminded us from the beginning why we had them, and trust me—by the time a pig is ready for slaughter it isn’t cute any longer.  It is about as disgusting a creature as you can imagine.  Slaughtering it was never a problem.  The boys understood early on that we needed these animals to survive and respected them for it.

            Just across the south fence and past the pigpen stands a live oak grove, a peaceful shady retreat we often wished had been on our property instead of the neighbor’s.  He has built a fire ring surrounded by several chairs, with a wood rack between two trees.  He planned outings with his children and cook-outs with his friends and quiet evenings with his wife.  He planted some Australian cypresses along the fence and now, after nearly ten years, they finally conceal his leafy sanctuary, a sanctuary he rarely visits any longer because his children are grown and living hundreds of miles away with all of his grandchildren.  I doubt he used his beautiful spot more than half a dozen times.  His wife passed unexpectedly several years ago. He has rebuffed friendly overtures and declined invitations to church.  We seldom see him any longer, and there hasn’t been even a lonely fire in the fire ring for three or four years.  So much for great plans.

            Chloe and I walk along that line of cypresses, peeking through the limbs sometimes, but usually watching the bottom of the fence line instead.  Up ahead of me as usual, Chloe will occasionally stop and sniff around and when I reach her, sure enough, there is a depression in the ground where something slid under the fence during the night.  Possums, coons, foxes, terrapins, sometimes we come across them during the day, but usually not.  The depressions are well worn and even if we fill up the hole, it will be back within a couple of days, or a new one will show up just a few feet down the fence line.  Interlopers will always find a way, and I can always tell from Chloe’s attention and sniff pattern whether something more dangerous has slunk under or not.

            That’s exactly why God gave us elders, because “fierce wolves will come in among you, not sparing the flock” Acts 20:29.  Peter warns about false teachers who will infiltrate with “destructive heresies” 1 Pet 2:1.  Jesus himself warned about “false prophets who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves” Matt 7:15.  Let me tell you, sheep are just as stupid as pigs are disgusting.  We are too easily led astray, and once they get us away from our shepherds we are just as easily eaten up.

            Our shepherds have a difficult job.  They deserve our respect.  They spend all hours of the day and night protecting us from things we do not even recognize as dangerous.  Like Chloe, they see potential problems we in our ignorance and inexperience miss and all they get for it is accusations about traditionalism, legalism, and cynicism.  We can make their job easier by spending more time in the word so we can recognize false teaching; more time with our brethren so we can share practical knowledge; and more time in safe places instead of hanging around the fence line in the dark of night where the wolves are always waiting.
 
Beloved, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God, for many false prophets have gone out into the world. 1 John 4:1
 
Dene Ward
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Chloe’s Path:  The East Side

7/19/2021

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​The first of a five part series running through this week.

Keith has mown a path for me, as safe as a path can be for someone with my eyesight, so I can walk Chloe, our Australian cattle dog, at least one lap every day with the trekking poles for balance and stability.  Elliptical machines are great for low impact aerobics, but you don’t get any fresh air and the scenery never changes.  With this path I get the best of both.  Let me take you for a stroll, beginning with the east side.

            When I come out and slip on my walking shoes, Chloe, always waiting expectantly under the porch, bounces out and sits impatiently on the steps, her ears tall and her eyes never leaving me.  “Just a minute,” I tell her, and she seems to have grown to recognize those sounds.  She knows I will indeed be outside shortly, but I wonder if her doggy brain wonders about people having to put on their feet before they come outside.  Sometimes she cannot abide the wait, especially if I have to do more than put on my shoes—like spot Keith as he lifts weights on the other end of the porch—so she gives just a tiny little whine, so anxious she shimmies across the boards on her rear end. 

As soon as I open the door she is halfway through it.  We cannot go anywhere or do anything until she gets a pat on the head.  Then I say, “Let’s go walk,” and she heads toward the morning sun peeking through the woods to the east, dappling the ground where we walk.  Often she has to stop and wait for me to catch up, but as soon as I round that first corner she is off again, inspecting every mound of dirt, every dew-heavy hanging shrub, every disturbed pile of leaves at the fence bottom.

Occasionally she will stop and stare through the fence to the property on the other side, heavily wooded, vines snaking up and through the oaks, pines, maples, and wild cherries.  Just over the fence lies the run.  We thought it was a creek when we first moved here, a shallow one but water always sat in the bottom, slowly draining to the south.  Then we went through the drought of the nineties and learned differently.  It’s a run.  Whenever rain comes through, the land on all sides of us for at least a half mile in every direction, runs into that narrow, deep channel and heads for the swamp a mile to the south.  After a typical summer afternoon downpour the water will rush loudly, white water at the bends and at every drop, carrying with it leaves and limbs shed by the overhanging branches. 

You do not realize how powerful water moving downhill can be until you see the aftermath.  We came out one morning to find the trash can washed up against the south fence, the run itself clear of all debris, and the pigs in the southeastern pigpen a pinky white they hadn’t been since they were born.  Only a small circle in the center of their backs remained black and muddy.  Good thing they managed to find a high spot so they could get their noses up out of the draining water that had rushed over the banks of the run, gushing through the fence and cutting across the southeast corner of the property.  We had no idea the water could rise that high.

The power of water is a constant theme in the Bible.  We completely misunderstand 1 Pet 3:20,21, especially when we read the newer translations that make water not something that saves, but something to be saved from.  Leave your new version a moment and look at the old ASV translation:   …the longsuffering of God waited in the days of Noah, while the ark was a preparing, wherein few, that is, eight souls, were saved through water: which also after a true likeness doth now save you, even baptism…  The waters of the flood saved Noah by bringing him and his family safely out of a world of sin, into a new world, one that was washed pure and clean.  Baptism does the same for us.  It saves us from the world of sin we live in, raising us to a new life free from sin—a chance to start over, this time with help from above.  It also washes away the detritus of our old lives, if we let it, if we are willing to let go of the baggage and surrender all to the Lord.

Water had saved the Israelites in a similar way.  They were “baptized” in the cloud and in the sea, walls of water on the side, a roof of vapor overhead. And then with a whoosh of water, God destroyed their enemies and set them in a new world, one where He and they were to enjoy a covenant relationship, 1 Cor 10:1ff.

Amos uses water to symbolize the power found in justice and righteousness.  Israel thought that multiplying sacrifices and feasts and other religious observances was all that mattered.  God would be pleased, especially if the prescribed rites were even more elaborate than commanded.  Then their lives during the rest of the week wouldn’t count against them.  The prophet told them differently, “Let justice roll down like water and righteousness like a mighty stream,” 5:24.

That is just a small sample of the passages using water as a symbol.  Spend some time today, as I did on my walk with Chloe, meditating on the simplest drink known to man.
 
Behold, God is my salvation; I will trust, and will not be afraid; for Jehovah, even Jehovah, is my strength and song; and he is become my salvation. Therefore with joy shall ye draw water out of the wells of salvation. And in that day shall ye say, Give thanks unto Jehovah…Isa 12:2-4
 
Dene Ward
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    Dene Ward has taught the Bible for more than  forty years, spoken at women’s retreats and lectureships, and has written both devotional books and class materials. She lives in Lake Butler, Florida, with her husband Keith.


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