It's been awhile since we had one, but the other morning as we came in from our last cup of coffee on the porch, we looked uphill toward the gate and saw a wild turkey, a male by his colors, about a head shorter than the fence.  Every so often he stopped his awkward strut and pecked at the ground.  It was still early spring, so pickings were slim out there in the wild.  We assumed he would eventually head toward the bird feeders on the north side of the house and vacuum up the fallen seed as a relative or two of his has in the past.  He was not that patient.
            Suddenly he turned and walked straight at the fence, bouncing off and then standing there in what looked like turkey consternation.  He tried again, this time harder, but still couldn't get through.  So he took a few steps east and tried again.  And again.  Then he backtracked further west and practically ran at the fence, only to be flung backwards like a vertical trampoline, reeling and flapping his wings, the only things that kept him from landing on his turkey fanny.
            First, a little education for city slickers.  Turkeys hate to fly.  In fact, only a relatively short fence, far shorter than ours in fact, will keep them penned up successfully as long as there is plenty of food.  They will keep walking around it looking for an opening instead of flying over it.  Imminent danger, abject terror, or a real need for food are the only things that will make them fly, hence those nice tender turkey wings we love, I suppose.  So our visitor never even tried to get over the fence, he just kept trying to get through it, again and again and again.
            Have you ever known someone who just wouldn't learn the lessons of life and had to get knocked down again and again and again, like someone trying to bull his way through a solid wall?  Have you ever seen a person push back at God, though time and time again God tried to wake him up?  I have, and it is ever more frustrating to see someone find every excuse in the book for not listening.  He is no better than that turkey trying to walk through a fence over and over and over.  It isn't even new.
            Then the LORD said, “I have pardoned, according to your word. But truly, as I live, and as all the earth shall be filled with the glory of the LORD, none of the men who have seen my glory and my signs that I did in Egypt and in the wilderness, and yet have put me to the test these ten times and have not obeyed my voice shall see the land that I swore to give to their fathers (Num 14:20-23)
            Why then has this people turned away in perpetual backsliding? They hold fast to deceit; they refuse to return. (Jer 8:5)
            This evil people…refuse to hear my words [and] stubbornly follow their own... (Jer 13:10)
            They refused to obey and were not mindful of the wonders that you performed among them, but they stiffened their necks…(Neh 9:17)
            But they refused to pay attention and turned a stubborn shoulder and stopped their ears that they might not hear. (Zech 7:11)
            Not a flattering picture, and especially sobering when you realize that those are pictures of God's people over several centuries.  In other words, it happens all the time even to those who have seen God's power and goodness and "steadfast love," that covenant term which they seemed to think as little of as garbage.  That means we, in yet another century, do it, too.
            And just as happened to them so it will to us if we follow their example:  He who is often reproved, yet stiffens his neck, will suddenly be broken beyond healing. (Prov 29:1)
            In today's slang we have a word for a fool and a loser, which is what you are when you are told again and again and still don't get it:  a turkey.  From what I saw the other morning, it is an apt term.
 
Thus says the LORD to me, “Go and buy a linen loincloth and put it around your waist, and do not dip it in water.” So I bought a loincloth according to the word of the LORD, and put it around my waist. And the word of the LORD came to me a second time, “Take the loincloth that you have bought, which is around your waist, and arise, go to the Euphrates and hide it there in a cleft of the rock.” So I went and hid it by the Euphrates, as the LORD commanded me. And after many days the LORD said to me, “Arise, go to the Euphrates, and take from there the loincloth that I commanded you to hide there.” Then I went to the Euphrates, and dug, and I took the loincloth from the place where I had hidden it. And behold, the loincloth was spoiled; it was good for nothing. Then the word of the LORD came to me: “Thus says the LORD: Even so will I spoil the pride of Judah and the great pride of Jerusalem. This evil people, who refuse to hear my words, who stubbornly follow their own heart and have gone after other gods to serve them and worship them, shall be like this loincloth, which is good for nothing. (Jer 13:1-10)

We had a storm a few days ago.  That in itself is not unusual.  Summer afternoons in Florida often include thunderstorms that go as quickly as they come.  But it reminded me of one we had a few years back, when Magdi, our first Australian cattle dog, was still alive.  It was not an ordinary storm. 
            You could hear it coming for about an hour, thunder in the distance, black clouds boiling in an increasing breeze that brought the smell of rain and ozone.  Finally the bottom fell out.  You could hardly see the bushes right outside the windows it was raining so hard.  Afterward, checks on the clock and the rain gauge would show that it rained 1.9 inches in 20 minutes.  Before long, we saw the fruit of Keith’s hours and hours of backbreaking labor, hauling dirt with a shovel and a wheelbarrow, creating a berm around the house.  It looked like we were on an island in the middle of a river, its strong current at least four inches deep as the water rushed down the slope, around the house, and toward the run to the east of us.  It would keep running nearly two hours after the rain stopped, and we drained just fine, but meanwhile I found myself humming, “The rains came down and the floods came up…”
            Suddenly lightning struck in the trees just across the fence to the north.  The clap was so loud I screamed, and even Keith, out in the shed without his hearing aids, heard it, and saw a ball of fire at the top of a pine at the same time.  He said Magdi shot out from her favorite place under the porch, eyes wide as saucers, circling here and there in the pouring rain looking for someplace safe.  He called her into the shed, normally a forbidden place, and petted her dripping and quivering sides until she calmed down.  We never saw Chloe until after the storm, but when we did, her tail was plastered down hard between her legs, the end of it curled up under her belly.  It didn’t come back up for two days.
            That reminded me of the Israelites’ reaction to God at Mt Sinai.  They were so terrified of the darkness, thunder, and lightning that they begged Moses that God would no longer speak to them.  I find Moses’ reply interesting:  Do not fear, for God has come to test you, that the fear of him may be before you that you may not sin, Ex 20:20.
            I think that might just be our problem.  We aren’t afraid enough any more. 
            I can remember when a certain phrase was not only forbidden in polite society, it was certainly never said on television or radio.  It was considered “taking the Lord’s name in vain.”  Now I hear it all the time, even from children.  When ten-year-olds have an abbreviation for it in their text messages, “omg,” something has been lost in our reverence for God.
            The Word of God is called a book of myths, even by people who claim to live by it, even by some who claim to be its ministers.  Religions people are pictured in fiction and drama as bigots, fanatics, hypocrites or maniacs. God, Jesus, Satan, and the struggle against sin are used as comic foils by entertainers.  When I start thinking about how far we have gone down this road, it’s a wonder to me that lightning isn’t popping around us constantly.
            We, the people of God, have even taken the concept of “the fear of God” and watered it down to the point that it means nothing more than the respect we might show our own fathers.  Isaiah, when he had seen merely a vision of God said, Woe is me, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips, for my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts, 6:5.  Isaiah was feeling a whole lot more than simple respect.  If there was ever a time when he could overcome sin more easily, it was probably in the weeks and months after that vision. 
            I have a feeling that if we ever stood in the presence of God we would finally understand what the fear of God is all about.  Some day we will.  I just hope it is not too late.
 
Any one who has set aside the Law of Moses dies without mercy on the evidence of two or three witnesses.  How much worse punishment, do you think, will be deserved by the one who has spurned the Son of God and has profaned the blood of the covenant by which he was sanctified, and has outraged the Spirit of grace?  For we know him who said, “Vengeance is mine.  I will repay,” and again, “The Lord will judge his people.”  It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God, Heb 10:28-31.
 
Dene Ward

One especially cold day this past winter, I looked out the window and saw a brand new bird on the feeder.  A bit late for migrating, which often brings us new birds passing through, I pondered what this newcomer might be.  As if he knew I needed help, he flew toward the window and I got a closer look and a big surprise.  It was a plain old Carolina wren, of which we have many, thanks to their multiple nesting habit in the summer.  But this one was so puffed up, his head was nearly hidden by his chest, and he was twice his usual girth.
            Well, I thought to myself, you are, too, when you put on a big puffy coat to go outside in the cold.  And that is indeed what had happened.  The wren had puffed up his feathers to hold the heat closer to his small body.  Before long, I noticed equally puffy cardinals, titmice, and sparrows.  God gave them all waterproof feathers to shed the rain and insulate their bodies, and the ability to create air pockets around them to hold in their body heat by puffing out those feathers.  But still, if you are not aware of that, at first glance they look like completely different birds.
            And that happens to us as well.  When we become puffed up with pride, we act like completely different people.  Tell me you haven't seen a man you would have described as a good man, do something which seems completely out of character to protect his image, his status, his control over a situation.  We walked out of a congregational meeting one time and someone said to us, "I did not know that brother today.  He was not himself at all!"  Or maybe he was, and we just found out that day.
            I have applied all these things to myself and Apollos for your benefit, brothers, that you may learn by us not to go beyond what is written, that none of you may be puffed up in favor of one against another (1Cor 4:6).  Paul defines it for us:  when we think ourselves better than others in any sort of way, we are puffed up like all those little birds I saw that morning.
            Now some are puffed up, as though I were not coming to you. But I will come to you shortly, if the Lord will; and I will know, not the word of them that are puffed up, but the power (1Cor 4:18-19).  He says that pride can make us think we never need to be corrected.  The Corinthians with this problem were about to find out otherwise.  I would certainly hate to find out before it was too late.
            Let no man rob you of your prize by a voluntary humility and worshipping of the angels, dwelling in the things which he has seen, vainly puffed up by his fleshly mind (Col 2:18).  How ironic when Paul says that humility can cause pride—false humility, that is.  It may not be wrong to recognize that we have improved in our efforts to gain humility, but bragging about it certainly is.
            If any man teaches a different doctrine, and consents not to sound words, even the words of our Lord Jesus Christ, and to the doctrine which is according to godliness; he is puffed up, knowing nothing, but doting about questionings and disputes of words, whereof come envy, strife, railings, evil surmisings (1Tim 6:3-4).  And here we have a false teacher who cannot be reasoned with because he thinks he knows more than you do.  The sad thing is, he knows nothing.
            We could go on with yet more passages, but perhaps these are enough to get the point across.  Pride can change you into someone you really should not want to be.  It can puff up you like a bird on a cold winter day, but no one will think it's cute.
 
Love suffers long, and is kind; love envies not; love vaunts not itself, is not puffed up (1Cor 13:4).
 
Dene Ward
 
 

Chloe is growing quickly.  She is now seven months old and about two-thirds the size of our seven year old Australian cattle dog Magdi.  Sometimes I have to look twice to tell which one I am looking at.  Yes, I know that does not mean much considering the state of my vision these days, but I know these dogs.
            Chloe, however, is still very much a puppy.  She will bring her small football to you to throw over and over, or her old rag to play tug-o-war again and again after she manages to yank it away from you.  You will always wear out before she does.  She prances and cavorts, romps and darts, and any other word in a thesaurus describing playfulness. 
            A few weeks ago she started chasing butterflies.  We have all sorts our here in the country, black and orange monarchs, yellow and black swallowtails, sapphire blue and black hairstreaks, and the ubiquitous canary yellow sulphurs that flit all over, changing direction almost faster than your eye can follow.  Those are Chloe’s favorites to chase, maybe because they are smaller.  Some of the swallowtails are nearly as big as her head.
            One morning, after Magdi had already left my side, and Chloe was still prancing along, another yellow butterfly flitted into our path.  Just as usual, Chloe chased it.  And then, when she least expected it, she caught it.  The look on her face was shock, then panic as the butterfly evidently kept on flitting inside her mouth.  Without hesitation, she opened her mouth and the butterfly flew out, none the worse for wear, and Chloe happily resumed the chase.
            I thought then, once again, of Jesus’ admonition to become as little children.  Was this yet another way that children are superior to adults, at least in the kingdom?  They do not realize that, with their feet firmly planted on the ground, they should not be able to catch something that can fly.  They do not know when something is supposed to be impossible.  They do not know the meaning of “illogical.”  They do not know what science has and has not discovered.  How often do we let our maturity in the world rob of us our childhood in the kingdom?  How often have I uttered that pessimistic comment, “It’ll never work?”  How often do we look at a new Christian, especially one who has come from a difficult background, and say, “He won’t last?”  How often do we look at the physical to judge the spiritual--placing our trust in things that look strong and effective on the outside, and never allowing childlike trust to take a chance on God’s power—and why, oh why, do we even consider that “taking a chance?”  Why do we refuse to pray for the impossible? 
            Magdi often plays with Chloe, especially in the cool of the evening, but more often she is content to sit and watch.  She keeps a good humor about her most of the time, but sometimes Chloe’s high spirits annoy her.  When Chloe is chasing a butterfly, not paying attention to where her romps take her, and she runs right over Magdi, she is often rewarded with a growl, or even a nip.  When Magdi actually snorts, it seems for all the world like a grumpy old woman saying, “When will she grow up?  She will never catch the thing, and she is always getting in the way and causing me trouble.”
            I suppose Magdi doesn’t remember the day she jumped over three feet off the ground and caught a bird on the wing.  I mourned the beautiful cardinal, but her form was beautiful, elegant, and to see a dog jump higher off the ground than she is tall and catch a flying bird is amazing.  You see, Magdi was a puppy once, too.
            Maybe only silly little puppies chase butterflies and birds; but then, only puppies catch them.
 
Woe to those that…rely on horses, and trust in chariots because they are many, and in horsemen because they are very strong, but they look not unto the Holy One of Israel, neither seek Jehovah, Isa 31:1.
 
Jesus, looking upon them said, With men it is impossible, but not with God; for all things are possible with God, Mark 10:27.        
 
Dene Ward

Before one of the surgeries, Keith built a bird feeder outside the window next to my favorite chair--a metal trough about five feet long on a wooden frame.  I must admit I have enjoyed this thing a whole lot more than I expected to.  We keep it filled with birdseed and Keith hung a cylinder of suet over it as well. 
            First the cardinal couple came to dine. They spend their time in the trough with the seed.  The suet is not their cup of tea, so to speak, but several others seem to prefer it   A hummingbird came and hovered next to it, trying his best to figure out how to get the nectar out of it, but finally gave up and flew back to the hummingbird feeder on the other side of the house.
            Then the catbird came calling.  He stood under it, with the bottom of it just out of reach.  First, he tried the hummingbird’s trick, but a catbird cannot hover, he quickly found out as he fell with a splat into the trough.  Then he started jumping up and down, trying to peck when he reached the height of his jump, once again falling into the trough, this time nearly doing a backward somersault.  Poor bird, I hope he didn’t hear me laughing at him, but you never think about a bird being so awkward as to fall on his backside.  Maybe he did hear me, because he left and did not come back for a long time.
            The next morning I looked out and a wren had landed on top of the hanging suet and calmly leaned down, pecking away.  Every so often he looked around as if to say, “See?  This isn’t so hard.”  After a few days he had pecked away most of his sure-footing.  The top of the suet was no longer flat, so gradually one foot would slide down and hang onto the side.  Every morning he pecked away until finally there was no room at all on the top and both feet clung to the side of the suet.  Then came the day he got a little too self-confident.  I looked out and he was hanging upside down from the bottom of the suet.  His little feet curled in tightly and deeply and he seemed to have a good hold, but he had not reckoned with his desire to eat.  He pecked so hard that he pushed himself off the suet and he, too, landed on his back in the trough.  Was he embarrassed?  No way.  He just hopped back up on the side and kept pecking.  There are things more important than saving face.
            Along came a little gray titmouse with his gray crest, big ringed eye, and the slimmest breast I had ever seen on a bird.  He too, figured out how to land on the suet, hang on, and peck.  Then one morning the suet cylinder fell and lay across the trough.  Here comes the catbird ready for an easy meal. The titmouse arrived shortly after and must have known something about catbirds.  He sat in the azalea and squealed ferociously until he finally scared the catbird away.  As soon as the titmouse had eaten and left, the big coward came back, but not long afterward the cardinal couple flew at him and off he went again.
            All of this makes me think about our efforts to feast on the bread of life.  Do we mind looking a little foolish sometimes in our eagerness to learn and grow spiritually?  Do we give up after one or two tries if things are more difficult than we expected?  Are we too frightened to admit we live on the Word of God—afraid we won’t be accepted by our peers, afraid we will be ridiculed, afraid no one will like us any more, afraid it may cost us socially, economically, or maybe some day, even physically?
            The little birds at my feeder teach me profound lessons every day.  Sometimes I need a prod to be more like the feisty little titmouse or the ingenious little wren who couldn’t care less how his hunger for suet makes him look.  Sometimes I need to be reminded that there are more important things than what everyone thinks about me, and that fear of others can make you look the most ridiculous of all.  Indeed, if a tiny little titmouse can scare away a big old catbird all by himself, why can’t I make Satan’s minions run away, especially with all the Help I have at hand?
 
As newborn babes long for the spiritual milk which is without guile, that you may grow thereby unto salvation, 1 Pet 2:2.
 
Dene Ward
 

I sat by the window the other morning watching the birds flit and fly as they visited my various feeders, sometimes sharing perches, other times chasing other birds away.  Eight to ten cardinals, over thirty-five sparrows, half a dozen titmice, a couple of wrens, eight goldfinches, a yellowthroat, and a red-bellied woodpecker flew in and out and around the feeders, somehow missing each other without the aid of the FAA and their air traffic controllers.  Even on the ground, the traffic grew thick as seven doves waddled in from the vine bed, weaving in and out of the birds who had given up on a seat at the feeders and sat below, feasting on the fallen birdseed.
            It was the middle of the coldest week of winter we have had here in North Florida in years, night time temperatures in the mid-teens, highs in the low forties.  The water in their water pans on top of the feeder posts froze solid.  Occasionally a cardinal landed, gazing at what used to be drinkable with a bereft look.  Eventually Keith, the big softie, took a boiling tea kettle outside and poured it on top of the frozen water.  At first, it just sluiced right off the ice, but finally began to melt it enough to give the birds something to drink, "on the rocks."  Times were hard for the bird population, and they needed our offer of birdseed, suet, and water, so they came freely and eagerly.
            Guess what happens in the summer?  The bird numbers dwindle significantly.  I only load the feeders once a week instead of every day.  I replace suet in the cages every month instead of every week.  When times are good, the seed eaters can find their own easily.  The carnivores don't need my block of suet so much.  And with the summer rains, puddles lie everywhere, and creeks run full.  Only three or four cardinals fly in with any regularity, and them just once a day.  Only the stodgy old doves come out of habit in the evenings.  I might see a titmouse or two at odd times, or maybe the new baby wrens who have been taught where to find an easy meal, but who will just as likely forsake us as soon as their wings are strong enough to take them further away. 
             And we, like the birds, fall prey to the good and easy times.  When we prosper, it's because of us, not because of God.  It's for us to use for ourselves, not for us to share with those less fortunate.  It's all about getting bigger and better, more and more, and God takes last place in any decision we make.  And sacrifice is for everyone else, all those fanatics who actually talk about God and make sacrifices proving their faith and devotion to Him.
             But when times are hard, boy, do we come running!  Now we pray, now we attend services so we can praise God and ask for help, for sustenance, for solutions to all our problems, in exactly the way we want them.  Not because we have suddenly become devoted servants of God, but because we need Him now.  When the good times return, we will be gone again, just like my birds.
          But here is one problem with that.  God does eventually run out of patience.  When we only want Him when times are rough, when we or someone we love has a grave illness, when the economy threatens the lifestyle we have grown accustomed to, someday, He will not give us the answer we want.  Instead He will say, as He did about the faithless Jews, As I called, and they would not hear, so they called, and I would not hear, says the LORD of hosts (Zech 7:13).
           I would love for my birds to throng my feeders all year long.  And I am sure that God would love for his children to do the same.  Perhaps we would do better to eat the seed of poverty than the seed of prosperity.  At least it looks that way out my window.
 
Take care lest you forget the LORD your God by not keeping his commandments and his rules and his statutes, which I command you today, lest, when you have eaten and are full and have built good houses and live in them, and when your herds and flocks multiply and your silver and gold is multiplied and all that you have is multiplied, then your heart be lifted up, and you forget the LORD your God… (Deut 8:11-14).
 
Dene Ward
 

A few weeks ago Keith took the garbage to the dump in the pickup as he has done out here in the country for over forty years now.  It's one of the perks of our rural existence—no Waste Management bill, but that means we take care of it ourselves.  So, since the truck hadn’t been driven in a while, he took it down the straightaway on the way home, a couple miles past our turn-off and back, at highway speed.  A mechanic friend said it was the only way to blow out the pipes, so to speak, and would make the already twenty-four year old truck last longer.
            When he got home he muttered something about "those pesky wrens" and pulled a nest out of the grillwork on the front of the truck.  It was well past nesting season, even for birds that do so more than once, so he assumed the nest was empty.  As he pulled it out and tossed it, two small wrens fluttered to the grass, then half hopped, half flew to the nearest thing off the ground, the big shop fan on the carport.  Almost immediately the mother wren found her babies and shepherded them to the azaleas.  For a day or two we watched as they learned of necessity to fly a little sooner than they had planned, and called Chloe off of them more than once.
            Wrens are known for building nests practically anywhere.  This one may have learned a lesson.  In fact, we wondered between us what must have happened as Keith left the dump and headed down that rural highway, gradually picking up speed.  Somehow I can see two little heads peering over the edge of the nest, looking down the road as the wind tore at their feathers, glancing at one another with eyes wide and mouths agape. 
            "What's going on, Ethel?"
            "I don't know Lucy, but hang on!"
            The sad part is that most Carolina wrens lay four to six eggs.  Even supposing that some of the others had already flown the nest, it's quite possible that a one or two were actually blown away in that wild ride.
            Life can be a pretty wild ride, too.  It's that way because we messed it up several thousand years ago.  God told Adam and Eve they would face hard work, and lots of sweat, pain, and anguish because of their error.  We face the same things, and our part in sin makes it only just. 
            ​You lift me up on the wind; you make me ride on it, and you toss me about in the roar of the storm. (Job 30:22)
            Sometimes the winds of trial blow so hard we have to hang on by our toenails.  Some don't make it down the highway as far as others, being blown aside by disease or accident or simple wear and tear on a fragile, physical body.  And all of that is a blessing, really, even if we do have a hard time seeing it that way.  When God kicked the first couple out of Eden, their access to the Tree of Life ended.  But who would want to live forever in a sin-cursed world when we can move on to something so much better?
            I think we often get too involved in trying to find a reason when the ride gets rough.  It seems to be the only way we can handle a misfortune.  But sometimes it is not about a bad decision we made.  Sometimes it's because someone else decided to go warm up the tires and exercise the engine and we just happened to get caught in the grillwork.  Time and chance happen to all, the Preacher tells us and that may just be the only "why" there is.  Make the most of it.  The other day Keith came across those two little wrens, hopping, flitting, and flapping in the dust of the dirt floor equipment shed.  They had survived their ordeal and gotten on with life.
            When you reach my age, you find yourself looking back on that daredevil ride you have taken.  You hope you can take a little solace in how you faced it—resolutely, courageously, determined to see it through without whining or complaining too much, without being too embarrassed to look in the mirror and see what you were made of.  Even when the ride is over, the Devil may yet come along and yank you out of the last comfortable place you call home and then what?
            Then you live on the thing that God's people have always survived on—hope.  We seem so busy trying to make this life the reward—when it isn't and never has been for any but the unbeliever—that we seldom talk about hope any longer.  When did you last hear a lesson on Heaven?  Not on what happens after death, something no one can say with any assurance at all anyway, but on what happens when the Lord comes again—the reward for our faithfulness despite the difficulties of this life, despite the roaring winds, the monster of a revving engine trying to gobble us up, the potholes and the bumps in the road.  That reward should be our focus, not this wild ride of a life.  Someday very soon, it won't matter at all.
            "Hang on Ethel!"  Making it through the ride is worth it.
 
When the tempest passes, the wicked is no more, but the righteous is established forever. (Prov 10:25)

Dene Ward

This one makes me feel a little like Aesop. 
            For the past few weeks, a brown cottontail rabbit has come hopping through our property in the early evening hours.  We have only two kinds of rabbits in Florida, the other being the marsh rabbit, with shorter ears, legs, and tail than the cottontail, but who is also a strong swimmer and lives near water.  So we on our dry property knew exactly what this one was, the good old Eastern Cottontail that thrives practically everywhere east of the Rockies.  A little over a foot tall, with ears not quite as large as some, but obvious when you see the silhouette through some bushes, and that powder puff white tail that cannot be missed when he runs.
            After a few days, he discovered our yard, just under the bird feeders.  Due to all the falling birdseed, the grass grows especially green and lush there.  One evening after Keith had mown, the rabbit crept through the fence, crawled through the jasmine vines, and plopped right down in that spot, flat on his belly, and enjoyed the grass buffet laid out for him.  He did not have to move an inch, just turn his head in a circle and eat around him.  It took a good half hour.
            The next evening really surprised us.  He crept through the fence but stopped under the jasmine vines, settled in, and proceeded to bite off foot long lengths of vine, and eat them, the stems growing shorter and shorter as they neared his chomping little jaws.  I have plenty of jasmine, but he must have eaten three or four feet of the stuff.  Poor guy is really hungry, I thought, so I laid a couple of large outer lettuce leaves right under the jasmine the next day.  Now he sits on the lettuce as if it were a royal pillow and eats the vines, not exactly what I had in mind, but okay.  I checked to be sure, and jasmine is not toxic to rabbits.
            But we also have a red fox visiting us in the evenings.  Foxes are extremely toxic to bunny rabbits.  This fox however, visits our grape arbor.  We have had a bad year, after an extremely good one last year, but we wondered what was happening to the few grapes we did have.  We looked out the office window one night and found out.  That fox wandered along the grape vines, pulling off the ripe ones and eating them.  Then he stood on his hind legs and got the next higher ones.  If we ate more than three dozen grapes during the harvest month of August I would be very surprised.
            This bunny has no problem eating.  He has no problem traipsing out of his burrow to find what he knows he needs.  Neither does the fox for that matter.  He ventures where he can easily smell that we have been, sitting on the swing under the arbor, and probably watches us walk there from his cover in the woods.  He comes anyway, because he is hungry.  And they both seem to know what is good for them and what is not.  Why don't my brothers and sisters?  When the elders have to beg us to attend classes, what does that say about our desire for the bread of life?  When extra classes are offered and go barely noticed, what does it say about our priorities?  Lately, Keith and I have been approached for private studies with both individuals and whole families.  We are thrilled.  But it should be so many more than these few. 
           A fox and a bunny rabbit are not only smarter than some of my brethren, maybe they are braver too.  One of these days, they may wish they had listened to their spiritual hunger pains.  One of these days, it may not be so easy to find.  One of these days it may just be too late.
 
​I am the bread of life. ​Your fathers ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. ​This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. If anyone eats of this bread, he will live forever. And the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh (John 6:48-51).
 
Dene Ward

The longer I live here, the more I realize that Florida is just plain weird.  None of the popular garden books work.  None of the advice on the gardening section of the morning shows makes any sense.  It doesn't even come at the right time of year for us.  And having become a birder, I can tell you that we seem to have fewer of the birds pictured in the bird books.  Oh, we have some of the ones you see up north all year, mainly cardinals, titmice, chickadees, phoebes, woodpeckers, blue jays and mockingbirds.  Then the water birds and larger birds of prey, like owls and hawks of various kinds.  But not goldfinches, not painted buntings, not black and white warblers, not yellow-rumped warblers, not even robins—except for a few brief weeks when they pass through on their migratory paths.
            And we didn't even see those few for years.  Not until we started setting out large shallow pans of water on top of the feeder poles.  Suddenly we were spending hours with binoculars and the bird book trying to figure out which was what.  Still, it took a while before the word passed among the bird population that water and food was free and easy on the Ward property.
            Four or five years ago we saw our first pair of goldfinches.  In the fall you can hardly miss them.  Their bright yellow feathers and contrasting black and white chevrons are plain as day, even without binoculars.  In the spring it's a bit tougher.  Having changed during winter, their feathers are drabber, almost olive, and the only way to tell them from the pine warblers are the faint streaks on the warblers' breasts.  After a couple of weeks, the goldfinches begin to molt and the bright yellow once again shows up, at least on the breeding males.  The non-breeding males are still drabber than the other males and have no black mark on their foreheads.  The females look a lot like those younger males and also sport a white patch on their rumps.  But it begins to be obvious that they are goldfinches, too.  It seems like they actually stayed a little longer this year before scooting back up north.
            My book tells me they often appear in flocks.  Must be another difference for Florida.  The first three years we only had the one pair.  Last year we suddenly had two pairs of goldfinches.  Then one day this past spring, I walked up to the window that looks out on our homemade aviary and there in the feed trough just outside the house was a whole flock of goldfinches happily pecking away.  I counted ten.  Ten!  Wow, I had hit the jackpot!
            So I stood there and watched for a while until they suddenly became aware of us and all flew off in a flash.  After that a couple of them took turns on the hanging feeders further away from the house.  I sat down and watched them a little longer.  You know what?  The two on the hanging feeder were every bit as cute and fun to watch, every bit as bright and cheerful a yellow as the ten had been.  They didn't lose their God-given glory just because there were fewer of them.
            And that made me wonder, why are we so impressed with numbers?  Why are we so impressed with titles?  Why are we so impressed with brand names and designer labels?  Why are we so impressed with outward appearance?  The more zeroes in a price tag, the more letters after a name, or the more awards on a shelf, the more we think of the person, the job, the car, the home, the neighborhood, the title and position.  And many times, the more wrong we are about what really matters.
            Better is a little, with righteousness, than great revenues with injustice. (Prov 16:8)
            How much better is it to get wisdom than gold! Yea, to get understanding is rather to be chosen than silver. (Prov 16:16)
            He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; And he that rules his spirit, than he that takes a city. (Prov 16:32)
            Better is the poor that walk in his integrity, Than he that is perverse in his ways, though he be rich. (Prov 28:6)
            One little goldfinch is every bit as fascinating to watch as a whole flock stretched out on a feeder, pecking not only at the seeds but sometimes each other.  One little goldfinch is just as yellow, just as cute, and just as worthy of my attention as fifty.  In fact, since he is the only one, I am usually a lot more grateful for him.
 
But the LORD said to Samuel, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him. For the LORD sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the LORD looks on the heart.” (1Sam 16:7)
​Do not judge by appearances, but judge with right judgment.” (John 7:24)

Dene Ward

We had chickens for a while and with the hens came a rooster.  Yes, they do crow in the morning, and not just at dawn.  Sometimes they are a little off—they anticipate the dawn and crow early.
            We had visitors once who were not used to roosters, city folk that they were.  Their three year old slept with them in the only extra bed we had, and that room was right next to the chicken coop.  About 5 a.m., when the sky might have lightened to gray if you thought about it real hard, the rooster went about his act.  We usually slept through it, having been inured for a good while, but our guests said their small child sat bolt upright in the bad and said, “What was that, Mommy?”  None of them ever got back to sleep.  The rooster did his thing about every fifteen minutes like a snooze button gone haywire until the dawn actually arrived, and that child came out of that bedroom with eyes as big as saucers.  Too bad you can’t muzzle a rooster.
            But maybe we shouldn’t muzzle those roosters after all.  Just as they woke the farmers to begin their day’s work, metaphorical roosters can wake us up.  Who doesn’t recall the real rooster that woke Peter from his self-deluded state?  And straightway the second time the cock crew. And Peter called to mind the word, how that Jesus said unto him, Before the cock crow twice, thou shalt deny me thrice. And when he thought thereon, he wept. (Mark 14:72)  He wasn’t the only one in scriptures who suddenly “awoke” to his sins.
            How about the lost son?  And he went and joined himself to one of the citizens of that country; and he sent him into his fields to feed swine. And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat: and no man gave unto him. But when he came to himself he said, How many hired servants of my father's have bread enough and to spare, and I perish here with hunger! (Luke 15:15-17)  I can just see him leaning over the trough as I did so many times when we had pigs of our own, and coming face to face—almost nose to filthy running nose--with a hog.  He may have been awakened by a  pig instead of a rooster, but the effect was the same.
            And then there were the exiled Jews whom Ezekiel spent his life trying to convert.  God said that when the Messianic kingdom began they would “remember and be confounded;” they would “remember…and loathe themselves” for their sins (Ezek 16:63; 36:31).  That wonderful new kingdom would be so much more than they deserved that it would shake them out of their complacency.
            In Acts 2, that crowd of Jewish worshippers were awakened by the events of the day and the convicting word that Peter spoke.  “And when they heard...they were cut to the heart…” (v 37).
            And who can forget the light dawning on David when Nathan the prophet looked at him and said, “Thou art the man?”  (2 Sam 12:7, 13) 
            If you’ve never had a rooster crow in your life, you may still be asleep in your smugness and self-righteousness.  It almost hurts when you are roused out of a deep sleep, and it should hurt even more when you are roused out of a spiritual sleep. 
            Pray for a rooster today.  And pray that you will hear it.
 
But when anything is exposed by the light, it becomes visible, for anything that becomes visible is light. Therefore it says, “Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.” (Eph 5:13-14) 

 Dene Ward