Keith recently received a veteran’s pass to a Tampa Bay Rays game in St Petersburg.  (By the way, there may be a Green Bay, but there is no such town as Tampa Bay.  Tampa Bay signifies an area on the central west coast of Florida, usually including Tampa, St Petersburg and Clearwater and their suburbs.) 
 
         But the game was at the end of the season after the Rays’ play-off hopes were gone.  At first you would think it wouldn’t be much of a game, but you would be wrong.  Young players who had been called up from farm teams for the expanded September rosters were playing for a place on the major league team next season.  Older players were playing to show their worth, either for a contract renewal or for another team to show some interest in a trade.  Established players were playing for personal records—a better ERA, consecutive years with a certain number of home runs and RBIs.  I knew it would still be a game worth watching.  No one would be “phoning it in.”

          But imagine there was nothing left to play for.  Imagine they were just playing out the season because it was a contract requirement.  How many home runs would you expect?  How many wins?  And how many fans would bother to show up at all?

          Some of us play at the game of life like that.  We look at our meager accomplishments, at the few years we have left, and decide there is nothing worth living for, nothing worth working for, nothing to look forward to but day after day of waking up to uselessness until one morning you don’t wake up at all.  And as far as heaven goes?  We seem to hope we have enough warning before death to shoot off a last prayer for forgiveness because surely that’s the only “hope” we have.

          Too many of us have bought into the world’s idea of hope—something insecure, uncertain, and probably not going to happen at all. Go out tomorrow and plant a seed.  Now read 1 Cor 9:10:  the plowman plows in hope.  What do you think is going to happen to that seed you planted?  You “hope” it will grow.  If a farmer hoped the way most of us hope, he would never plant in the first place.  “Hope” in the Bible means something is going to happen, and you are simply waiting for it, waiting like someone standing at an established bus stop at the established time, not someone who just guessed what route the bus takes and which corner it might stop at and when, and “hoping” you guessed correctly.

          By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to go out to a place that he was to receive as an inheritance…for he was looking forward to the city that has foundations who builder and designer is God…these all died not having received the promises but having seen and greeted them from afar, Heb 11:8,10,13.  Could wealthy Abraham have given up a comfortable home to live in tents the last half of his life, could he have stood on that mountain ready to sacrifice his son if he had just crossed his fingers and “hoped” he had a future beyond this life?  No, he had Biblical hope.  He knew he had a reward waiting.

          And so do you—something even better than moving up from Double A, or even Triple A, to a permanent place on the roster of a major league team, and something a whole lot more certain—even if your batting average isn’t quite as high as the next guy’s, even if all they can count on you for is a sac-fly every so often instead of a grand slam.  You still have something to play for, a place “prepared from the foundation of the world,” one that will be there no matter who wins the pennant.
 
And we desire each one of you to show the same earnestness to have the full assurance of hope until the end, so that you may not be sluggish, but imitators of those who through faith and patience inherit the promises, Heb 6:11-12.

Dene Ward

That’s what my doctor asked a couple of weeks after one of my eye surgeries.  He is a very proper Englishman and has an odd way of phrasing things at times, at least to my American ears, but that one still caught me off-guard.
 
           “May I prod you?”

           “With what?” I blurted out, nonplussed.  Since I am a country girl I suppose all I could think of were cattle prods.

            As it turns out, the scleral flap he had placed inside my eye to control the drainage through the shunt was not situated exactly right.  He needed to move it, and the only way to do so was to “prod” my eyeball. 

           He took two six inch long cotton swabs, eased them into my eye socket over the top of my eyeball and, while watching the progress through a lighted scope, proceeded to mash down on that eye for all he was worth.  At least that’s what it felt like, but perhaps that was because that eye still had a fresh incision.  As you can imagine, I sat as still as I could.  Doctors always tell you not to put Q-tips in your ears.  I wonder what my other doctors would have thought about two big ones sticking out of my left eye socket.  A friend was with me and witnessed this a little uncomfortably.  “Almost lost my lunch,” I think was what she said, “but the young resident watching the procedure looked grayer than I felt.”

            Eventually the internal flap moved a millimeter or so and he was pleased.  “Sorry,” he said.  “I know that was uncomfortable.”  Indeed, I thought, somewhat “Britishly.”  After all these years he is wearing off on me.

            We are prodded often in our lives, and like me at that moment, it is always our choice whether or not to allow it.  Too many times we make the wrong choices.  “He made me mad,” is inaccurate.  What happened is, I let him make me mad.  I allow the words and actions of others to create wrong reactions in me.  I allow the pressures of society to push me into bad decisions.  I allow temptation to overcome me, instead of me overcoming it.  And in every case it is no one’s fault but my own, because the choice was mine.

            How do I know?  Because when there comes a time of good prodding, good provocation--let us consider one another to provoke unto love and good works, Heb 10:24—then I ignore it when it is not what I want to do.  If one is my choosing, then so is the other.

            Satan prods us all the time.  Sometimes he uses circumstances; sometimes he uses people; sometimes he uses ideologies.  It is always up to us to recognize the true source of those things and choose to ignore it.  Instead we must find those who urge us toward the good, encouraging proper attitudes and actions through example or teaching.

            Just like those cotton swabs pushing on the outside of my eyeball affected what was happening on the inside, provocation works on the heart and the attitudes.  In the final analysis it is up to us to make the right decisions.  Just who is asking, “May I prod you?”  Is it the Lord, or is it Satan?  To which one will I listen?  What will I choose to do?
 
[Love] does not behave itself unseemly, seeks not its own, is not provoked, takes no account of evil, 1 Cor 13:5.
 
Dene Ward

“Remember not the sins of my youth” -- These are words from a currently popular song, in turn taken from David’s words in Psa 25:7.

Now why should we, or David either, be worried about sins of long ago –long, long ago for some of us?  We and he repented, we/he confessed, we/he prayed.  We were forgiven—long ago.

But, I confess that the temptations that BESET me are those same sins that started in my youth.  Perhaps in that time of hubris, Satan finds our weakest character trait and attacks and lodges arrows whose tips bedevil us with the pain of sin all our lives.

To illustrate: The popular kids in high school cussed and so did I.  (Shame on me).  I kept that world separate from home and Mom never knew—provable by the fact that the only scars on my hide are bullet holes and various self-inflicted accidental wounds.  I got to college and waxed worse, still leading singing and making talks.  Then I obtained a master’s degree in bad language in the USMC.  I went to Florida College 3 years, preached full time for 10 and part time for years, and have been a deacon for decades.  I cleaned it up.  But when frustration builds up, I still fight the battle over, when multiple things go wrong in a short time and I am tired and, and, and….the words are at the tip of my tongue, in the edge of my mind.  Shame on me.

I wish I could say that is the only sin that began in my youth, battles I still fight too often.  I suspect David was warning young people—don’t start.  It never stops.  The appetites that you do not learn to control now will haunt you all your lives.

For that same reason, Paul warns a middle-aged Timothy, “Flee youthful lusts.”  Old people are bothered by the same temptations that plague young ones.  Problems may vary from vulgar language to pornography to covetous materialism to sexual fantasies to lying to envy, or a host of others, but the principle remains that it is easier to never begin than to stop, easier to stop when you are young than later.  Now is the time.

So, with David and Paul, I would also warn:  Learn now to control yourself.  Every indulgence will weaken you and haunt you all your life.  Not because it is unforgiven but because it never goes away.  Like an addiction, sin/Satan never leaves you alone.  You can control it, but you are never over it.
 
So you too consider yourselves dead to sin, but alive to God in Christ Jesus. Therefore do not let sin reign in your mortal body so that you obey its desires, and do not present your members to sin as instruments to be used for unrighteousness, but present yourselves to God as those who are alive from the dead and your members to God as instruments to be used for righteousness. For sin will have no mastery over you, because you are not under law but under grace.  (Rom 6:11-14, NET)
 
Keith Ward

Unfortunately, I have a sweet tooth.  I have never understood rail thin women who complain about a dessert being, “too sweet,” “too rich,” and certainly not, “too big.”  That probably explains why I am not rail thin.
  
          I had a good excuse for making desserts with two active boys in the house.  Their favorites were plain, as desserts go—blueberry pie, apple pie, Mississippi mud cake, and any kind of cheesecake.  Nowadays, since there are only two of us and we two do not need a whole lot of sweets, desserts are usually for special occasions, and so they have gotten a little more “special” too.  Coconut cake with lime curd filling and coconut cream cheese frosting; chocolate fudge torte with chocolate ganache filling, dark chocolate frosting, and peanut butter ganache trim, garnished with dry roasted peanuts; lemon sour cream cake with lemon filling and lemon cream cheese frosting; and a peanut butter cup cheesecake piled with chopped peanut butter cups and drizzled with hot fudge sauce; all these have found their way into my repertoire and my heart. 

            But one thing I have never done is feed my family on dessert alone.  Dessert is for later, after you eat your vegetables, after the whole grain, high fiber, high protein meals, after you’ve taken your vitamins and minerals.  Everyone knows that, except perhaps children, and I would have been a bad mother had I given in to their desires instead of doing what was best for them. 

            So why do we expect God to feed us nothing but dessert?  Why do we think life must always be easy, fun, and exciting?  Why is it that the only time I say, “God is good,” is when I get what I want?

            God is good even when He makes me eat my vegetables, when I have to choke down the liver, and guzzle the V8.  God is good when I undergo trials and misfortunes. God is good even when the devil tempts me sorely.  He knows what is best for me, what will make me strong and able to endure, and, ultimately, He knows that living a physical life on this physical earth forever is not in my best interests.

            Eating nothing but cake and pie and pastries will create a paradox—an obese person who is starving to death, unable to grow and become strong.  God knows what we need and gives it to us freely and on a daily basis.  He doesn’t fill us up with empty spiritual calories.  He doesn’t give us just dessert.  Truly, God is good.
 
Rejoice the soul of your servant, for unto you O Lord, do I lift up my soul.  For you Lord are good, and ready to forgive and abundant in lovingkindness unto all them who call upon you.  There is none like you among the gods, O Lord, neither any works like your works.  All nations whom you have made shall come and worship before you, O Lord, and they shall glorify your name.  For you are great and do wondrous things.  You are God alone, Psa 86:4,5,8-10.
 
Dene Ward

A long time ago we moved to a small farming community where Keith preached full time.  Most of the church members lived out from the town in white two story Midwestern farmhouses in the middle of acres and acres of corn and soybean fields, so they didn’t know many of the townsfolk either.  Because we had few prospects given to us, Keith spent a lot of time knocking on doors. 
 
           We saw in the weekly newspaper a notice about a Bible study being held in a home in the middle of town on Thursday mornings.  The item said all were welcome, so being at loose ends yet again one Thursday, Keith and I drove the few blocks to the dark brown frame house and knocked on the door.  We were welcomed warmly, though looks were exchanged among the room full of women.  Keith was the only man there.

            In the middle of the tiny living room sat a white-haired woman in her 70s, slim and well-kept in her blue flowered shirtwaist dress.  Her manner left no doubt that she considered herself the Bible authority in the class and her word was not to be questioned. 

She started the class, which it seemed had reached the third chapter of Exodus—the burning bush.  She proceeded to tell us that the Holy Spirit had visited her the night before and told her that Moses had not known who he really was that day in the desert, and that the reason for this visit from God was to tell him, then persuade him to return to help the Israelites, who were after all his own people.

            After a few minutes of this, I raised my hand and said that was odd since the Holy Spirit tells us in the book of Hebrews that Moses knew exactly who he was from his early years, his mother having been his nurse after all.  Then I read aloud Heb 11:23-27. 

An embarrassed silence followed.  I was only 21.  I still thought that people who were honestly seeking the Lord would change the minute they heard the truth read from God’s word.  Instead we were told that she had no idea why the Spirit told her these things, but since he did they were obviously the real truth and I was wrong.  Then the class continued for another hour.  As we left we were politely told that troublemakers were not welcome and it would be best if we did not return.

It did not take long before I found others who would not listen to the plain truth of God’s word.  I even discovered that good-hearted Christians will not always see the truth as easily as I had thought.  And then one day not more than ten years ago I was slapped in the face with the realization that I had read a passage for years and completely missed a vital truth in it.  When someone rubbed my nose in it I was appalled at how I could ever have missed it.

So what has this taught me?  It has not taught me that as long as you are a good-hearted person you can believe a lie and still be perfectly fine with God.  Jesus said of the Pharisees, you compass sea and land to make one proselyte and when he has become so, you make him twofold more a son of hell than yourselves, Matt 23:15.

But it has taught me not to be so judgmental of others.  Things can be difficult to see, not because we have hard hearts but because we have always looked at it one way and never even thought there might be another way.  They can be hard to understand because we have put all the emphasis on one phrase and totally overlooked another. 

And it has certainly taught me to listen to others, to weigh their words carefully, not simply dismiss them with a sneer or a tone of outrage.  I may say I don’t believe I am always right, but when I refuse to even consider what others have to say, I am putting the lie to my words.

Now back to the lady who listened to whoever it was she thought she saw the night before.  God cannot lie, the scriptures tell us.  He will not contradict himself.  If this woman had the knowledge of the scriptures she claimed, she would not have made such an obvious mistake.  She needed to have heeded the warning of Paul in Galatians 1:8, Though we or an angel from heaven preach to you any other gospel than that which we have preached, let him be accursed.  The Holy Spirit would never change the word of God.
Jude tells us in verse 3 that the word was once for all delivered to the saints. 
Can you imagine how discouraging it would be to think that God might be changing things around night after night and no one ever told you about it?

He isn’t, and he won’t.  Our job is to make certain we know it well, to check out those who teach it, and to never allow preconceived notions to keep us from seeing the obvious in it.
 
Every word of God is tried; he is a shield unto those who take refuge in him.  Add not to his words, lest he reprove you and you be found a liar, Prov 30:5,6.
 
Dene Ward

We were hiking a mountain trail, sometimes straight up, sometimes straight down.  A babbling brook ran to our left at the bottom of a fifty foot ravine, making miniature waterfalls over rocks and roots long before we reached the larger and taller falls, weeping into a pool and running on down the hill.  As we made our way over another rise and around a bend, the leaf-strewn trail suddenly dipped and we found ourselves in a cypress swamp.  What?
 
           Oh yes, I remembered, we were not in the mountains after all; we were in Florida.  Yet it would have been easy to have fooled a person who had slept through the trip over rivers with names like Suwannee and Ocklockonee, traveling deep into the piney woods of the Big Bend, down to the swamplands.  If they had wakened in the campground on the ridge overlooking the river valley below, and walked the first mile of the path, they would have thought they were on the Appalachian Trail somewhere.

            But the sight of those huge cypresses, the bottoms of their trunks billowing like the folds of a skirt in the water, their knees standing two and three feet high around them, would have given pause.  Suddenly they would realize the shrubbery beneath the trees in the woods wasn’t rhododendron and mountain aster, but palmetto and needle palms.  The ground wasn’t hardwood leaf mold over rock, but pine straw matting over red or yellow clay and sand.  This is Florida—perhaps different from most other places in the state, but Florida nevertheless. 

            Where are you spiritually?  Are you where you think you are?  Or did you sleep through the first half of your life, and when your spirituality awakened, look around and at first glance think, “Yes, this is the right place,” when it was only a close facsimile?  Did you find yourself among people who seemed to be doing the right thing and so fail to take a really close look at your surroundings? 

            Why are you where you are?  Is it just because this is where Mom and Dad put you, or because you checked the map and stayed awake for the trip, knowing why you made which turns, and not only how to tell others to get here, but why they should be here with you?

            If you are in the mountains of Appalachia, you will need to look out for a few rattlesnakes and copperheads, but those are shy reptiles that will usually run if given the opportunity.  In a Florida swamp you will also need to watch out for cottonmouths and alligators.  Cottonmouths are notoriously aggressive—they will charge from cover, and then chase you.  And alligators move faster than anything that ungainly has a right to.  If you are wary of the wrong dangers, you are much more likely to be taken unawares. 

            God expects you to know where you are spiritually and why you are there.  He doesn’t want people who are where they are simply out of convenience and family tradition.  Where is the service in that? 

            He expects you to look out for the dangers that might surround you.  How can you be alert if the dangers you expect are not the ones in that area?

            And how will you ever find God if you are not where you thought you were?
 
From there you will seek the Lord your God and you will find Him if you search after Him with all your heart and with all your soul, Deut 4:29.
 
Dene Ward

On our recent camping trip we had a lot of wildlife for company.  Yet it was neither frightening nor bothersome.  The only animal we saw besides the usual birds and squirrels that lived in the campground itself was a young raccoon who moseyed up to the woodpile, so interested in the spot where Keith had slung some cold coffee that he didn’t see us until about the same time we saw him.  All of us were startled and he fled for cover.  Yet I am positive we had much more company out in the woods.
 
           If I did not see them, how do I know?  Because as we hiked the park’s fifteen miles of trails over the next four days, we saw their tracks: the cloven hoof prints of many deer, the tiny handprints of other raccoons, the small padded paws of bobcats, and the deep, heavy prints of wild boars, along with places they had torn up the ground rooting and wallowing.  There were not just a few of these tracks either.  We saw far more animal tracks than people tracks on our daily hikes.

            I bet you believe me now, don’t you?  Yet God’s fingerprints are all over this world of ours and it seems that every year fewer people believe in Him.  They might as well believe that animals don’t exist in the forest; it would make about as much sense. 

            But people have been behaving this way for thousands of years. I am reminded of Moses performing his signs before Pharaoh.  The Egyptian ruler did not want to believe in Jehovah as the one true God.  He had his many magicians replicate Moses’ signs with their tricks.  Finally though, they reached a point where they could not do so. 

            “This,” they said to Pharaoh, “is the finger of God.”

            Would that men would be so honest today.
 
For the invisible things of Him since the creation of the world are clearly seen, being perceived through the things that are made, even His everlasting power and divinity; that they may without excuse, because that knowing God, they glorified Him not as God, neither gave thanks, but became vain in their reasonings and their senseless heart was darkened.  Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools, and changed the glory of the incorruptible God for the likeness of an image of corruptible man, and of birds, and four-footed beasts, and creeping things.  Wherefore God gave them up…Rom 1:20-24.
 
Dene Ward

When we go on a one week camping vacation, we always stay Saturday night in a hotel in the closest town we can find with a church.  There are seldom any groups of God’s people within 50 miles of a mountain campground, and many of these are small groups.  A couple of times Keith has even preached for them.
 
           One time we were returning to the same area two years in a row and he was able to make those preaching arrangements ahead of time.  We wanted to be sure we were on time so those poor brethren would not be frantic, but we had accidentally left the directions at home.  So we asked the hotel desk clerk to Google the church website for the address and meeting times.  When he did, all three of us were in for a surprise.

            He gave us the address then said, “6429?  I grew up at 6425 on the same street.  I know where that church is.  It’s two doors down from my dad.”

            Yet he had not recognized the “name.”  He did not know the service times, which were posted on the sign when we got there.  He didn’t know they had a website, though a large banner hung outside the building.  So much for the importance of “signs.”  He was in his mid-20s, had grown up practically next door, and knew none of those things.  Do you know why?  Because he didn’t know the names of any who assembled in that building.

            The building does not draw people.

            The sign does not draw people.

            The website does not draw people.

            All those things are for people who are already looking, many of whom even know what they are looking for--like Christians traveling through on vacation.  Since when is the mission of the church to make sure that traveling brethren can find us? 

            The gospel is what draws people, but as Paul asks in Romans 10:14, how shall they hear without a preacher?  Since we no longer have miracles to “confirm the word,” the world has to know us and know our lives before they will listen.

            It took me years to learn to talk about my wonderful brothers and sisters instead of just spouting scriptures or waiting for someone to ask me a Bible question.  I have invited many to services and to Bible studies, but forgot to tell them that being with these people was half the reason for going and in the beginning, it might be their main reason for wanting to come back.  And I forgot to tell them how much better my life was simply for allowing the Lord to lead my way.  I was too busy making sure I had some scriptures memorized for appropriate occasions and waiting for those circumstances to somehow pop up on their own.

            What does your meetinghouse mean to the neighborhood it sits in?  Do they know anything about you?  Even if all they think is, “Those people believe you have to follow the Bible exactly,” that’s better than nothing.  It means they have had contact with a person, not just a sign or a building.

            Don’t let your meetinghouse be nothing more than a landmark.  The church is supposed to show people the way.  “Go past the church and we are the second house on the right,” is not what the Lord had in mind.
 
 From you has sounded forth the word of the Lord, not only in Macedonia and Achaia, but in every place your faith to God-ward is gone forth…1 Thes 1:8.   
The righteous is a guide to his neighbor…Prov 12:26.   Dene Ward

When we camp in the fall, we must make our reservations several weeks in advance.  With my precarious eye condition, we never know when we might need to cancel, but it’s our philosophy that you hope and pray for the best, then deal with life as it happens.
 
           Then there is the weather.  There are no 2-3 month forecasts, at least none you can count on.  Only once in 28 years have we hit a solid week of rain, but that was also the week we passed around a stomach virus—first Nathan, then Keith, then me, and finally Lucas—so the rain was the least of our problems.

            In the other years, though, we have noticed this:  it always rains on Tuesday.  No matter where we camp or what year, Tuesday is the day for rain.  Sometimes it’s one hour-long storm; sometimes it’s a day of passing showers; once in a while it happens at night while we sleep warm and dry in the tent.  Those are the best years.

            We have come to plan for it ahead of time.  Sometimes we go on a day of shopping in a nearby town, replenishing the ice supply and picking up anything circumstances create a need for, like duct tape, batteries, a new air mattress once when we woke up flat on the tent floor one morning.  Sometimes it’s browsing at a flea market, a used bookstore, or an antique shop.  Sometimes it’s a scenic drive through a national forest.  We know when we leave the house on Saturday that on Tuesday we will be doing one of these things.

            One year we really hit the jackpot.  Monday night at 11 pm, shortly after we were tucked into our sleeping bags for the night, the rain started and did not stop until 11 pm Tuesday night—24 hours straight of cold drizzle.  We were in an unfamiliar campground in an unfamiliar area.  The nearest town with decent shops was over 50 miles away.  There were no indoor tourist spots nearby either.  By breakfast Tuesday morning the “water resistant” screen-house over the table was saturated and had started dripping through.  We obviously couldn’t sit there all day.  So we gathered up books, Bibles, notebooks, a Boggle game with plenty of paper and pencils, a propane lamp and stove, and headed for the tent.  We spent the entire day in that 16 x 10 tent reading, studying, playing games, talking, drinking hot chocolate, napping, and then starting the list over again.  The day passed quickly for that kind of day, and the next we were back to sunny skies, hiking, and evening campfires.

            Wouldn’t it be foolish for us to expect to be able to choose one week three months in advance, and think we could live outdoors without a chance of rain?  Instead we go on, knowing it will happen, prepared for it, and determined to have a good time anyway.

            Peter told those first century Christians not to be so naïve as to expect to never suffer.  Paul told Timothy, Yea all that would live godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution, 2 Tim 3:12.  We are promised all spiritual blessings, but health and wealth do not fall into that category.  We are promised “a hundredfold” brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers and children, but often their greatest worth is in the encouragement they offer during the trials of life.  We are promised that God will never forsake us, but that matters far more in times of difficulty than in times of ease.  In fact, it is usually in those difficult times that we come to realize our greatest blessings.

            Only the shallowest of Christians expects God to make sure he leads a “charmed” life.  We are called to be disciples of a Lord who suffered.  A disciple follows in his Master’s footsteps.  Why would we ever think we should be immune to the same suffering?

            As long as you expect a week without rain, your life will be one of constant disappointment.  Hope and pray for the best, prepare for the trials and tribulations, then live a life of joy when it rains on Tuesday.
 
Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial among you, which comes upon you to prove you as though a strange thing happened to you; but insomuch as you are partakers of Christ’s sufferings, rejoice; that at the revelation of his glory also you may rejoice with exceeding joy, 1 Pet 4:12,13.
 
Dene Ward

We enjoy our camping vacations, which is good since it is the only kind we can afford.  Maybe we like to pretend we are rugged individualists, the kind this country was founded by, when we “rough it” in our tent and sleeping bags, cooking our food over an open fire, and sitting by a campfire to stay warm.  “Hah!” I think I heard our sons say.  We stay in the regular campground, not the primitive one, so we can run an outdoor extension cord to the electric blanket in our sleeping bag, which lies atop the queen size air mattress, and have access to the hot and cold running water in the bathhouses for a shower every night. 
           
It is a relaxing stay.  No televisions, no telephones, no radios, no news, most of which seems bad these days, no list of chores, no deadlines—no stress of any sort at all.  Even cooking and cleaning up, because it must be done in a different way and by necessity involves fewer dishes, does not seem like work.  We get up when we want to, usually not before there is enough light to see by, go to bed when we get tired of reading by dangling trouble light, hike when we want to, as far as we want to, play games, do crossword puzzles, talk, plan, look at birds and flowers, and then look them up in our wildlife book. It is peaceful, calming, and relaxing.

            But getting there?  Now that’s another story.  It takes two full days to pack, using a three page list.  There are arrangements to be made for the animals, the mail, bills that are due, and any duties for the church that need to be covered.  We have to plan the route, which always goes through Atlanta, and after Atlanta, the hilly, winding roads that often leave me carsick. 
We must find a church in some of the most “churchless” areas of the south, a task we usually take care of before we leave home.  Once we arrive we must find a hotel that isn’t exorbitant so we can worship with our newfound brothers and sisters before heading up the mountain afterward.  We have to plan what we need to take into the hotel room with us without having to unpack the whole pickup bed, and then what we will need for clothes changing afterward, and have them all easily accessible.

We must reach the park not long after checkout time so we can find a good spot—one with a level spot big enough to accommodate a 16 x 10 tent, with a fire ring placed not too close to the tent site, a good place for the firewood, which provides not only our heat but also the fuel for cooking all week, and more privacy than an RV needs due to the paper-thin tent walls.  It must have shade, especially in the afternoon, and the table must be wooden if at all possible.  Some of my equipment racks will not fasten to the extra thick cement picnic tables, and you cannot move cement tables if needed to fit everything into the site.

Then we have to set up, a process which takes two and a half to three hours.  It has to be done before dark, and once it is done, we have to reload the back of the pickup with the items we will constantly need—the food boxes, the suitcases, the linen box, and the “book” box, which contains not only the books we will be reading that week, but the notebooks and Bibles we use for writing and studying, the crossword puzzles, the journal, the camera, the binoculars, and the Boggle game.

Finally, we get to sit down and start relaxing.  Is it worth it?  You bet it is.  For nine days we experience the peace and beauty of God’s creation, and let it soothe our aching spirits.

All of that is somewhat like the life of a Christian.  Some days are difficult.  Some days are full of stress.  Some days have lists of things that need to be done and not enough hours to do them.  Some days are not bad—time spent with brethren and family, time preparing for things we know we will enjoy, but we are all looking forward to something better, no matter how good the days here sometimes are.  We all want to reach the vacation spot, where the stress evaporates and eternal peace soothes our souls.  But just as that camping trip would not be restful if we didn’t prepare for it properly, waiting till the last minute and tossing things willy-nilly into the pickup, hoping we got it all, neither will eternity. 

Start preparing yourself today, remembering that this life is the journey, not the goal, and begin to look forward to the bliss that awaits a faithful child of God.
 
For if Joshua had given them rest, he would not have spoken afterward of another day. There remains therefore a sabbath rest for the people of God. For he that is entered into his rest has himself also rested from his works, as God did from his. Let us therefore give diligence to enter into that rest, that no man fall after the same example of disobedience. Heb 4:8-11.
 
Dene Ward