Do a little research and you will find that the term “comfort food” was added to Webster’s Dictionary in 1972.  It refers to foods that are typically inexpensive, uncomplicated, and require little or no preparation at all; foods which usually bring pleasant associations with childhood, just as an old song can remind one of a long ago romance, or a smell can instantly bring back situations both good and bad. 
            Comfort foods vary from culture to culture, but in our country usually include things like macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, fried chicken, ice cream, peanut butter, and brownies.  Folks tend to use comfort foods to provide familiarity and emotional security, or to reward themselves.  It’s not surprising that many of these are loaded with carbohydrates which can produce a soporific effect as well.  Comfort food followed closely by the comfort of sleep.
            Since it became fashionable I have tried to figure out my own list of comfort foods. Here is my problem:  my mother was such a good cook and so adventurous, trying many recipes day after day, that I never had one dish often enough to form an attachment to it.  One cooking magazine actually runs the column, “My Mother’s Best Meal.”  I could not possibly pick one.  I would need a whole page to list them.  So for me it isn’t comfort food, it’s comfort cooking.  When my mind is in turmoil, I cook all day long, trying, I suppose, to recreate the warm, homey, safe atmosphere of my mother’s kitchen.
            Comfort food works for the soul too.  The best part is, you don’t have to be a good cook.  You just open the word of God and feast.  You turn on the water of life and drink to your heart’s content.  You produce the fruit of the lips in praise to God whenever and wherever you desire.  You gather with your brothers and sisters and wallow in a fellowship that has absolutely nothing to do with coffee and donuts.
            You can get fatter and fatter with all that spiritual nourishment and still be healthy.  In fact, in this context at least, the skinnier you are, the sicker, the sadder, and the weaker you are.
            So grab a spoon today, and everyday, and dig in.
 
Work not for the food which perishes, but for the food which abides unto eternal life, which the Son of man shall give unto you: for him the Father, even God, has sealed, John 6:27.
 
Dene Ward

We had been unhappy with our griddle for a good while, so Keith went online shopping and found an appliance called a Griddler, put out by Cuisinart.  This little contraption with two heating elements that can either lie flat next to each other or fold over on each other, and with four interchangeable plates, two of which are double-sided, can be a panini press, a grill pan, a waffle iron, or it can be opened flat and used as a griddle.
            It does have a few disadvantages.  Because of the two separate plates with an inch space between them, you can only fit four pancakes on it at once instead of six, but there are only two of us so that's no problem.  It seems to take longer for the pancakes to cook, too.  However, the panini we get are amazingly crisp and with the grill plates, you can grill both sides at once, making that process much faster. 
            The plates—flat, grill-marked, and waffled—are nonstick.  Boy, are they nonstick.  You want to know how I found out?
            When I pour pancake batter on this thing, I have no trouble at all.  Maybe it is because they immediately begin to cook and the batter is thick enough not to run.  But eggs are another thing entirely.  Evidently the side that is the "top" if you fold it, does not sit exactly flat when opened up.  It looks close enough that I did not realize that.
            One day we decided to have breakfast for dinner.  I preheated the pan and, just because my husband likes it that way, I put a teaspoon of bacon grease on the already slick surface.  Then I poured on the raw eggs. 
            Immediately the eggs slid over to the side of the pan.  Before I could move, one had slid onto the counter and down onto the floor—splat!--between my feet.  I managed by then to get my flipper flat end standing on the surface of the pan at the rim, but that didn't stop it fast enough.  All the eggs kept sliding, building up around my flipper edge until they started oozing around the sides of it and headed for the fall once again.  I grabbed another flipper and stood it up on the rim of the pan next to the first one to catch a larger portion of the running egg whites.
            Meanwhile, I started hollering, probably nothing intelligible.  At this point I was straddling one egg and holding two flippers erect trying to keep the rest of the eggs on the pan.  Keith came running and saw what was happening.  He grabbed some paper towels and knelt down between my feet to clean up the floor.  That meant I had to squat a bit to fit his shoulders in there.  I wish I had a picture—but then, maybe not.  Finally I could actually move my feet without stepping into eggs and sliding across the floor.  He grabbed one of the flippers while I raked a little of the now cooked egg white back from the lip of the pan with the other and made a nice little dam.  Another minute and I could flip the eggs over and they actually stayed put.
            We stepped back, a little winded, shaking our heads at what had just happened.  The two of us working together meant we had only lost one egg and, believe it or not, the others were cooked perfectly.
            Now imagine if he had looked over, seen what was happening and said, "That was a stupid thing to do."
            Or, "If you hadn't poured them out so quickly that wouldn't have happened."
            Or, "That's your job not mine."
            Or, "Someone else will take care of it."
            Or, "That's not my talent," and hadn't lifted a finger to help.
            We wouldn't have had dinner, and we would have probably lost far more than one egg.
            Too bad that's what happens in the church too often.  And it's deplorable that too often in our judgmental, self-serving apathy we lose far more than one soul-less little egg.
 
Rather, speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ, from whom the whole body, joined and held together by every joint with which it is equipped, when each part is working properly, makes the body grow so that it builds itself up in love. (Eph 4:15-16)
 
Dene Ward

Most of us know that America is named after Amerigo Vespucci, an Italian who voyaged to the New World first in 1497.  What we don't know is that he wasn't much of an explorer after all.  His claim to fame seems to be that he is the first one who realized that North and South America were two separate continents and that neither were part of Asia.  But many scholars believe he was a second-rate explorer at best, even if he was (we think) the first person to discover the mouth of the Amazon River.  Vespucci died on this date in 1512.
            What many knowledgeable people remember him for now is pickles (Mental Floss, "A Brief History of Pickles" by Michele Debczak, Sept 3, 2021.)  It seems that before he began exploring, he was a ship chandler, a supply merchant to ships and explorers.  It is said that Vespucci even furnished supplies for one of Columbus's voyages.  Crossing the Atlantic took a while, and without refrigeration, ordinary food would spoil.  So ships usually carried supplies of both dried and pickled foods to carry them through.  The pickled items were especially helpful in preventing scurvy.  Pickle sellers were indispensable in the Golden Age of Exploration.  In later times Ralph Waldo Emerson called Vespucci "the pickle dealer of Seville," which was meant to be derisive, but was not untrue, except perhaps in scope.
            Pickles have been important in history since about 4000 BC in Mesopotamia.  I have even read that the "cucumbers" in the Bible were really pickles.  Once again, it was a matter of storage, but also of nutrition.  You could pickle practically any fruit or vegetable and that meant a better diet for all those folks so long ago.
            I happen to like pickles, usually dill.  But once upon a time, I discovered something a little different.
          I first had one thirty-nine years ago in a rural community southwest of here.  The farm wife put them on the table in a clear gallon jar and we dug into the neck with a long skinny fork she must have found just for that job.  They were sweet, thin, crisp, gave a crunch as loud as a kettle-cooked potato chip and left a small twinge in your jaw right under your ear from the perfect amount of vinegar.  It was the first sweet pickle I had ever liked, and I was becoming more and more adept at canning and preserving and wanted to give this one a try since the whole family liked them.
            "Could I possibly have the recipe?" I asked her.
            She hesitated and I presumed it was one of her "secret" recipes that she did not like to share, but no, that was not the problem at all.
            "It's a really old recipe with strange directions," she said, "but if you can figure out what they mean and follow them carefully, it does work.  It is very important that you follow the directions carefully and don't change anything."
            My first thought was that she could easily write it so I could understand it, whatever the problem was, but when she handed it to me to copy for myself, I saw the issues right away.
            The recipe called for "a gallon of water and enough salt to float an egg." 
            "I've never measured it," she said.  "I just keep adding salt to a gallon of water until an egg floats."
            Oh, well, all right. 
           The next ingredient was "a ten cent tin of alum."  If you have bought any groceries lately, you have probably not seen anything for ten cents, and you probably haven't seen a tin of alum either.
            "Just find a small container of alum and buy it," were her not so helpful instructions.
            At least the rest of the directions were clear—sort of.  On day four when you layered cucumbers and sugar, you assumed it was granulated sugar and you also assumed that it needed to be enough sugar to form a real layer, not just a mere sprinkling.  She didn't really help me with that one.  "Until it looks right," doesn't help if you've never seen it before.
            But I took that recipe home and went at it.
            Day 1—Wash and slice enough cucumbers to fill a clear gallon jug.  Dissolve enough salt to float an egg in a bit less than a gallon of water (because of displacement), and pour over the cucumbers.  Put on the lid and set aside for 24 hours. 
            It must have taken me 15 minutes to get the salt right.  I kept adding it by the tablespoonful, determined to find a set amount and that stupid egg kept sinking right to the bottom of the pot.  Finally I tossed the tablespoon measure aside and just poured it in.  At something just over a cup, the egg sank under the water, then slowly rose so that a piece of shell the size of a quarter showed above the surface and the egg bobbed up and down freely when I jiggled the pan.
            Day 2—Pour out the salt water and rinse the cucumbers.  Dissolve the alum in the same amount of clean water and pour it over them.  Cover and set aside for another 24 hours.  I had finally found the alum at a small town grocery store just ten miles up the highway.  Even all those years ago, its price had risen nearly 700% to 69 cents.
            Day 3—Pour out the alum water and rinse the cucumbers.  Pour distilled white vinegar over them until covered.  By that third day, they had shrunk enough that the cucumbers no longer filled the gallon jar, and you needed nearly a gallon of vinegar to cover them.
            Day 4—Pour out the vinegar.  DO NOT RINSE.  Sterilize either a gallon glass jar or several pint jars.  Add a layer of pickles and then a layer of sugar, again and again until you fill the jar(s).  Put on the lid and set it in your pantry.  By this time, the pickles are so preserved, you don't even have to seal them!  In a week or two, the sugar will have dissolved and mixed with the vinegar that remains on the pickles and make the sweet pickle juice.  Chill before serving.
            My family loved these pickles.  Some days I put a new pint jar on the table with a meal and it was emptied by the time we finished eating.  And here is the thing I want you to think about today:  it was an old recipe.  It sounded a little odd.  In fact, I had to translate it here and there into something that fit today's ingredients, like a 69 cent tin of alum instead of a 10 cent tin.  But I still had to follow the recipe to a tee for it to turn out right—nothing was intrinsically different about what I did.  And it still worked.  Never have I seen another recipe like it.  No other pickle recipe tells me I don't have to seal them in a canner so that we don't all get botulism.  The procedure preserves them that well.
            God has a recipe too.  People today think it's odd.  They look at it and think it won't work anymore.  They think they can change it and it will still turn out fine.  Certainly no one's spiritual health will suffer if we just change this one little thing to suit us.
            Botulism is a pretty nasty disease.  So is sin.  So is disobedience.  Be careful when you decide that God's old recipe is too much trouble, too hard to understand, or no longer relevant.  I'd hate for you to get fatally ill over it.
 
Thus says Jehovah, Stand in the ways and see, and ask for the old paths, where is the good way; and walk therein, and you shall find rest for your souls: but they said, We will not walk therein.  And I set watchmen over you, saying, Hearken to the sound of the trumpet; but they said, We will not hearken.  Therefore hear, you nations, and know, O congregation, what is among them.  Hear, O earth: behold, I will bring evil upon this people, even the fruit of their thoughts, because they have not hearkened unto my words; and as for my law, they have rejected it. (Jer 6:16-19)
 
Dene Ward

            Some things are just not supposed to happen.  Sooner or later you will have a flat tire.  Sooner or later your AC will quit on you.  Sooner or later the washer will stop washing and the dryer will stop drying.  None of these things are pleasant, but they all happen to everyone.  When it happens, you groan and then get on with the business of life.  But some things are just not supposed to happen.
            I was putting some things in the refrigerator the other day.  Usually the door swings shut by itself, but this time, as I twisted to get the next item, it swung all the way open.  Then it quietly fell off its hinges and tumbled shelf side down, dumping pickles, olives, ketchup, three kinds of mustard, Worcestershire and soy sauces, homemade jelly, butter, cream cheese, and my super special ordered-from-California eye medicine onto the floor, leaving the rest of the refrigerator wide open and humming.  For a moment I just stood there, stunned.  We have been through several refrigerators—a couple of cheap ones that came with the apartment or trailer we were renting at the time, and a couple of secondhand ones.  But this one was a recommended model we bought new.  Never have we had a refrigerator door fall off, not even the inexpensive or used ones.  Refrigerator doors do not fall off. 
            Don’t you know that is how God feels at times?  We can find several passages where he laments our actions, saying, “This is not supposed to happen,” at least in substance, if not verbatim.  James 3:10 is a prime example:  Out of the same mouth comes forth blessing and cursing.  My brothers, these things ought not so to be.  James tells us we should not bless God and then curse man because when we curse a man made in the image of God, we might as well be cursing God.  Yikes!  That puts another spin on it, doesn’t it?  Understand, we are not talking about using four letter words here, but about maliciously wishing evil upon a person.  We are not supposed to do it--not even to other drivers!  And James acts like we ought to know this without being told:  we should not be cursing men! 
            Unfortunately, we do not know, or willfully ignore, many such things.  We should know God is our Creator and worship him, but for some reason that is hotly debated even among intelligent people.  We should know God’s law; he has made it available and easy enough to understand.  But even in the church we have “seasoned” Christians who cannot find their way from Acts to Habakkuk without getting lost somewhere in Ephesians, and who think John wrote several “Revelations.”
            I wonder if God does what I did the other morning, stand there in shock, staring at a door-less refrigerator, with my mouth hanging open, thinking, “What?  That just doesn’t happen.”  Unfortunately, it does.  You wonder if God is really all that surprised any more.  Tell you what, let’s work on a real surprise for him—let’s make sure we don’t do any of those things from now on.
 
The ox knows his owner, and the ass his master’s crib; but Israel does not know, my people do not consider, Isa 1:3.
Yes, the stork in the heavens knows her appointed times; and the turtledove and the swallow and the crane observe the time of their coming; but my people know not the law of Jehovah, Jer 8:7.

Dene Ward

Keith is the rye bread eater in this house.  His favorite loaf comes from a local bakery/deli that bakes from scratch all the bread it uses for sandwiches.  We stop there and buy what is a huge loaf of marble rye by grocery store standards, for about the same price ounce for ounce.  I have never been able to make a loaf he likes better.  The last time I tried he said he had to think real hard about it to even taste the rye flour.  "But it's good," he hastened to add, while kindly not adding "just not rye."  So I found a new recipe that even has step by step pictured instructions.  I think I will give it a go and see if this one comes closer to his favorite.
            While I was thinking about this loaf today, I realized that you can learn a lot from marble rye.  In the first place, you have four layers of alternate light and dark doughs wrapped around each other in a cinnamon roll type layering, yet each layer stays completely separate from the others.  You don't get a half and half beige mix, but a definite light-dark swirl.  Paul, when he discusses the discipline necessary in 1 Corinthians 5, says at one point, I wrote to you in my letter not to associate with sexually immoral people— not at all meaning the sexually immoral of this world, or the greedy and swindlers, or idolaters, since then you would need to go out of the world (1Cor 5:9-10).  Just as Jesus talks about "letting our light shine before men," Paul recognizes the need to be out in this unrighteous world.  How else can we teach?  How else can we influence people for good?  How else can we serve, if nothing else?  Yet Peter tells us that we must [have] your behavior seemly among the Gentiles; that, wherein they speak against you as evil-doers, they may by your good works, which they behold, glorify God in the day of visitation (1Pet 2:12).  We are among them, but not like them.  We, instead, show them the way, just like my dark rye dough wraps itself around my light rye dough, yet the dark does not affect the light.
            This certainly does not mean that we socialize with them for the sake of socializing only.  When Jesus "ate with sinners," he did so to teach.  Are you teaching those sinners, or simply enjoying their company because they are "more fun" to be around than your brethren?  Are they affecting you more than you are affecting them?
            And then we see the good old leaven principle.  All four layers of my dough, both dark and light, are affected by the leaven in the dough.  They all rise exactly the same way, to the same height, with the same texture.  The light does not get fluffier.  The dark does not become denser.  They become exactly the same.  Leaven can work two ways, either for the good or the bad.  Paul and Jesus both talk about leaven as sin (Luke 12:1; 1 Cor 5:6-8).  Yet Jesus also tells a parable of leaven in a loaf, a loaf representing the kingdom and its growth.  Leaven will do its thing.  It will even create itself if you leave it alone long enough.  That's where sourdough comes from.  Be sure the leaven you are using is the leaven of righteousness, you influencing your friends and neighbors for good, and even your brothers and sisters when they need it, not them influencing you for bad.
            Now back to my kneading…

A little leaven leavens the whole lump (Gal 5:9).
 
Dene Ward

Popcorn is our snack of choice when watching ball games.  We make it the old fashioned way—bacon grease in a large saucepan, bulk popcorn from a large plastic bag, and salt.  Heat it over high heat, shaking the pan until it stops popping.  The stuff out of the microwave cannot begin to compare.
            We still wind up with what the industry calls “old maids,” kernels that have not popped.  Usually it’s the kernel’s fault, not the popper’s. 
            They tell me that popcorn kernels are the only grain with a hard moisture-proof hull.  That means that not only can moisture not get into the kernel, but the moisture inside the kernel cannot get out either.  As you heat them, the steam inside increases until the pressure reaches 135 psi and the heat 180 degrees Celsius (356 for us non-scientists).  At that point, the starch inside the kernel gelatinizes, becoming soft and pliable.   When the hull explodes the steam expands the starch and proteins into the airy foam we know as popcorn.
            I found two theories about old maids.  One is that there is not enough moisture in the kernel to begin with; the other is that the hull develops a leak, acting as a release valve so that pressure cannot build enough for the “explosion.”  Either way, the kernels just sit there and scorch, becoming harder and drier as they cook.
            Isn’t that what happens when we undergo trials?  Some of us use the experience to flower into a stronger, wiser, more pleasant personality.  Others of us sit there and scorch in the heat until we dry up completely, no use for God or His people, let alone ourselves.  The resulting bitterness is reflected in the cynical way we view the world, the way we continue to wallow in the misery of our losses, and the impenetrable barrier we raise whenever anyone tries to help us.  As Israel said when they had forsaken God for idols and knew they would be punished, Our bones have dried up, our hope is lost, we are clean cut off, Ezek 37:11.  When we refuse to seek God in our day of trouble, when we forget the blessings He has given us even though we deserved none, that is the result.
            But God can help even the hopeless.  He can bring us back from despair.  He can make our hearts blossom in the heat of trial if we remember the lesson about priorities, about what really counts in the end.  If we have only hoped in Christ in this life, we are of all men most pitiable, 1 Cor 15:19, and that is exactly where we find ourselves if we allow anything in this life to steal our faith in God. 
            Trials are not pleasant; they are not meant to be.  They are meant to create something new in us, something stronger and more spiritual.  When, instead, we become hard and bitter, we are like the old maids in a bag of popcorn, and when the popcorn fizzles, it’s the popcorn’s fault.
 
For our light affliction, which is for the moment, works for us more and more exceedingly an eternal weight of glory; while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal. 2 Cor 4:17,18.
 
Dene Ward
 

January 16 is, I recently discovered, International Hot and Spicy Foods Day.  And most of the hot and spicy foods people eat are the result of using hot chili peppers.  I imagine everyone knows about the Scoville Heat Scale, which measures the heat of various kinds of chili peppers.  Just so you have something to go by, a standard sweet bell pepper runs 1-100 on the scale and I can't feel any heat at all in it.  Poblanos, which I often use for chiles rellenos comes in between 1000 and 1500.  Jalapenos on the other hand hit the scale at 2500-5000 and serranos at 5000-15,000.  Habaneros, which most people consider to be super-hot (so do I) run 100,000-350,000.  I used to think that was the hottest pepper around.  Then I heard about ghost peppers—855,000-1,463,000.  But I just now saw the newest hot pepper winner, the Carolina Reaper, topping the Scoville scale at 2,000,000-2,200,000.  I know I may be called a heretic by heat lovers, but to me, when you can't even taste the food for the heat of the pepper, someone has gotten the point of eating totally turned upside down.  It's about enjoyment, not endurance.
            Chili peppers are used in all sorts of cuisines, not just Mexican as most might suppose.  Today we had a Caribbean dinner—jerk grilled chicken breasts with tropical salsa, and sautéed sweet potato cakes.  We are not much for hot food so making my own jerk seasoning is a bonus—I can cut the red pepper in half.  As for the salsa, one tiny red jalapeno, seeded, ribbed, and finely diced, was plenty with the mango, pineapple, avocado, and onion.
            Ah, but those jalapenos do leave their mark.  Ordinarily I wash my hands half a dozen times during the course of cooking dinner, but I had finished with the raw chicken, the creamy avocado, and the sweet, slick mango so I hadn't washed them again after dicing that pepper and never even thought about it.
            After dinner we made our usual after-dinner-before-dishes walk to survey our little realm.  Keith absently reached down and held my hand.  Then he just as absently reached up with that same hand and scratched his eyelid.  At least it was his lid.  About the same time Chloe came up behind me and licked my dangling hand.  The next thing I knew Keith had a clean cloth up to dab his running eye and Chloe was at the water bucket lapping as quickly as she could.  I came inside and washed my hands immediately.
            We are often just as clueless as I was today about the influence we have on others.  One word, one thoughtless act, even one look can have repercussions that last for days, or weeks, or even years.  Paul reminded the Corinthians that "a little leaven leavens the whole lump" and told Timothy that the words of two specific men "eat like gangrene" (1 Cor 5:6; 2 Tim 2:17).
            The prevalent attitude I hear, even among brothers and sisters, is "That's their problem."  No.  God makes it plain that it is my problem when my influence causes others to fall.
              Therefore, if food makes my brother stumble, I will never eat meat, lest I make my brother stumble. (1Cor 8:13)
            And whosoever shall cause one of these little ones that believe on me to stumble, it were better for him if a great millstone were hanged about his neck, and he were cast into the sea. (Mark 9:42)
            It's time we grew up and realized our responsibility to others.  We will be judged for every "idle word," Jesus says.  That's a word we said without thought, without concern for others, without owning up to our responsibility for every little thing that escapes our tongues.  James says "Be…slow to speak…" not because I am slow-witted but because I am actually taking the time to consider what I am about to say before it's too late.  Sounds like an excellent reason to shut up once in a while, especially if I am prone to talk just to hear myself talk.
         ​When words are many, transgression is not lacking, but whoever restrains his lips is prudent. (Prov 10:19)
             Don't forget to wash the jalapenos off your hands.
 
And he said to his disciples, “Temptations to sin are sure to come, but woe to the one through whom they come! (Luke 17:1)
 
Dene Ward

No one really knows why this day started, National Pickle Day, but I think increasing pickle sales may well have been the root of it.  With the encouragement of the Pickle Packers Association it was first celebrated in 1949.  Today, Americans consume over five million pounds of pickles a year, so maybe it worked.
            We planted our first garden 46 years ago.  Even though Keith had been brought up with gardens, we were both tyros, especially considering the climate we were in, different from either of our childhoods.  He set me up with all the equipment I would need, and most of which I still use all these years later:  canners, mason jars, jar lifters, lids, rings, funnels, sieves, lime, vinegar, canning salt, and cookbooks, I had them all.
            One of the things I knew I wanted to make was a batch of dill pickles.  I love dill pickles.  I could eat a whole jar.  So I looked all over for recipes and found one that was fairly easy.  I did exactly as the recipe said and one afternoon in July lined my shelves with a dozen pints of dill pickles.  The recipe said to let them sit a few weeks, as I recall, so I did, and had not gotten around to trying them yet. 
            Finally we had company one evening and Keith grilled some hamburgers.  The perfect meal for my pickles, I thought, and proudly set them on the table.  I made a point to put the Mason jar on the table so our guests would know they were homemade.  Too bad for me as it turned out.  Keith’s pal took one bite of pickle and tried very hard to keep his face from screwing up, but not entirely succeeding.
            “Wow!” he finally choked out.  “These are DIIIIIIILLLLL pickles.”
            I took a bite myself and resolved not only to toss the recipe but every jar in the pantry.  The recipe had called for four tablespoons of dried dill seed per pint.  That’s one-fourth cup, people.  After all these years of experience, I would have looked at that recipe and immediately known something was off, but then I was a newbie and didn’t know any better.
            Ah, but we make the same sort of mistakes as Christians.  But solid food is for the mature, for those who have their powers of discernment trained by constant practice to distinguish good from evil. Heb 5:14.
            I learned from my mistake with the pickles and tried again, and again, and again, until I finally got it right.  But I would never have gotten it right without all that practice.  That’s what it takes with the Word.  No, it doesn’t take a college degree to understand the Bible and knowing exactly what to do to begin your relationship with Christ is pretty simple, but the Word of God is a profound book.  If all you do is read a chapter a day, you are missing 90% of its power.
            I have seen too many young people, especially those “raised in the church,” spout off simplistic definitions and explanations and think that’s all there is to it, completely missing the depths that can be plumbed with some diligent work.  I’ve seen too many older Christians who have relied on those one-dimensional catch-phrases instead of growing to the height they should have after all those decades as a Christian that they are so proud of.  And I have seen too many old chestnuts that are patently wrong passed from generation to generation. 
            If reading Hebrews 7 doesn’t send you immediately back to Genesis 14 and Psalm 110, if seeing the word “promise” doesn’t make you instantly check for a reference to the Abrahamic promise, if reading the sermons in Acts doesn’t make you realize exactly how important it is to know the Old Testament, you have not been “exercising your senses” in the Word. 
          Please be careful of anything that sounds too pat, that makes arguments based on simplistic definitions or the spelling of English words (“Godliness is just a contraction of God-like-ness”).  Do not repeat anything you did not check out with careful study yourself.  And if you are still quite young, please check out your understanding with someone who is not only older, but well-versed in the Scriptures, and be willing to listen and really consider.  Do you know who I have the worst trouble with in my classes?  People who were “raised in the church.”  They are far less likely to even consider that they might be wrong about something and to change their minds than a brand new Christian, converted from the world with a boatload of misconceptions.
         You cannot know too much scripture.  It is impossible to be “over-educated” in the Word.  The more you know, the more motivation you will have to live up to your commitment to God, the better person you will be, and the fewer embarrassing mistakes you will make when you open your mouth.  Practice, practice, practice, or making pickles will be the least of your worries.
 
…put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge after the image of its creator. Col 3:10
 
Dene Ward

Potlucks are a staple in the south.  As a born and bred Southerner I would be inclined to say we do it the best except for one thing—I lived in the Midwest for a couple of years early in our marriage, and they can put on a pretty good feed, too.  At nearly every potluck I beg for recipes, and I still have a few I begged from my Illinois days.  After all, pork is king in the Midwest just like it is down here in the South.  Anything with bacon is good.
            There are unwritten rules about potlucks.  We could probably go on for a page or two about that.  But the one that everyone knows, even if they won't say it out loud, is that if they come to eat, they had better bring something, too.  You know that is so because when you try to invite a visitor who didn't know about it ahead of time and, thus, has nothing to contribute, you have to practically get down on your knees and beg them to come, telling them there is always plenty, because there always is.
            We have a potluck every Sunday morning—not with literal food, but spiritual.  And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near (Heb 10:24-25).  When I hear someone say they got nothing out of the services, I want to ask if they brought anything to share.  You don't come to services and pull up to your pew like to a gas pump and expect to get filled up while you just sit by and do nothing yourself.  We are supposed to be paying attention to one another, deciding how best to encourage and edify one another, to stir one another up to perform good deeds when we leave.  Exactly how does sitting there considering yourself, and yourself only, accomplish any of that?  And why does just entering the doors give us the right to taste everyone else's meal and judge whether it meets our own preferences while giving back nothing in return for others to consider?
            I Corinthians 14 is one of the few places that discusses an assembly of the first century church.  Yes, it discusses spiritual gifts primarily, but it must be in there for us to learn something from.  Notice, when they came together, "each one" brought something—a hymn, a lesson, a revelation, a tongue, an interpretation.  And because everyone brought something there were rules for how to share them, beginning and ending with this purpose:  Let all things be done unto edifying.  If you have a tongue, but there is no interpreter, keep silent, because no one will be edified.  If two or three of you have a prophecy, take turns one at a time while the others keep silent—no one can hear the message and be edified if you are all speaking at once.  It's common sense, really, but it also tells us again that everyone brought something to the assembly to share.  The vocal traffic jam proves that. 
            This week try worrying more about what you have to offer than what you think you should "get" out of the services.  Start preparing your "dish" now for this coming Sunday.  It might be a word of encouragement to the weak.  It might be service to a young mother who is overwhelmed so she can hear a sermon for once.  It might involve making a list during the announcements of all those you need to contact with cards, phone calls, or visits during the upcoming week.  It might mean sharing things you know of so others can serve as well.  You are required to take something to the potluck if you hope to enjoy the resulting feast in return.
 
Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear (Eph 4:29).

Dene Ward

Today we had a Caribbean dinner—jerk grilled chicken breasts with tropical salsa, and sautéed sweet potato cakes.  We are not much for spicy food so making my own jerk seasoning is a bonus—I can cut the red pepper in half.  As for the salsa, one tiny red jalapeno, seeded, ribbed, and finely diced, was plenty with the mango, pineapple, avocado, and onion.

              Ah, but those jalapenos do leave their mark.  Ordinarily I wash my hands half a dozen times during the course of cooking dinner, but I had finished with the raw chicken, the creamy avocado, and the sweet, slick mango so I hadn't washed them again after dicing that pepper and never even thought about it.

              After dinner we made our usual after-dinner-before-dishes walk to survey our little realm.  Keith absently reached down and held my hand.  Then he just as absently reached up with that same hand and scratched his eyelid.  At least it was his lid.  About the same time Chloe came up behind me and licked my dangling hand.  The next thing I knew Keith had a clean cloth up to dab his running eye and Chloe was at the water bucket lapping as quickly as she could.  I came inside and washed my hands immediately.

              We are often just as clueless as I was today about the influence we have on others.  One word, one thoughtless act, even one look can have repercussions that last for days, or weeks, or even years.  Paul reminded the Corinthians that "a little leaven leavens the whole lump" and told Timothy that the words of two specific men "eat like gangrene" (1 Cor 5:6; 2 Tim 2:17).

              The prevalent attitude I hear, even among brothers and sisters, is "That's their problem."  No.  God makes it plain that it is my problem when my influence causes others to fall.  Therefore, if food makes my brother stumble, I will never eat meat, lest I make my brother stumble. (1Cor 8:13)  And whosoever shall cause one of these little ones that believe on me to stumble, it were better for him if a great millstone were hanged about his neck, and he were cast into the sea. (Mark 9:42)

               It's time we grew up and realized our responsibility to others.  We will be judged for every "idle word," Jesus says.  That's a word we said without thought, without concern for others, without owning up to our responsibility for every little thing that escapes our tongues.  James says "Be…slow to speak…" not because you are slow-witted but because I am actually taking the time to consider what I am about to say before it's too late.  Sounds like an excellent reason to shut up once in a while, especially if I am prone to talk just to hear myself talk.  ​When words are many, transgression is not lacking, but whoever restrains his lips is prudent. (Prov 10:19)

               Don't forget to wash the jalapenos off your hands.
 
And he said to his disciples, “Temptations to sin are sure to come, but woe to the one through whom they come!  Luke 17:11

Dene Ward