The cliché is now true—my doctor is my social life.  When you start seeing the same issues of the same magazines in four different offices, you know it's so.  So the other day I actually found a new magazine to look at:  Country Living.  Let me look through this, I thought.  Maybe I am one of the few here who could appreciate it. 
            Boy, was I wrong.  In fact, the title of this magazine was wrong.  This was not country living it depicted.  It was some wealthy people who decided they wanted to get out of town and thought the peace and quiet would be wonderful, but only a few minutes a day of it.  I know them personally.  We have several within a mile of us.  One of their homes (well, it might as well have been one of the ones near us) was showcased in a ten page spread so you could copy their decorating schemes.  Notice these items:
            Plank floors in a 15 x 20 kitchen--(Are they planning to square dance in it?)
            A pedestal sink in the "powder room"--(A powder room?  A mud room out in the country, maybe, but forget powdering your nose if you're going out to the garden in June or July.) 
            Cabinet hardware at $25 each piece--(A $25 cabinet knob?  I mean, really, all you do is pull the thing, and sometimes you still have some of that garden mud on your hands when you do.)
            $35 each throw pillows in an all-white room--(An all-white room in the country?  Where there are no sidewalks and you have to walk through the mud to get to the steps?)
            $1400 each wicker chairs on the front porch--(I couldn't relax just walking ten feet away from a $1400 chair, much less sitting in it.  And no one in their right mind would shell peas or shuck corn in it. So what's it good for?)
No, this is not country living.  It is mere pretense.  In fact, our experience has been that these are the folks who pack up and head back into town (a 50-60 mile round trip) 5 or 6 days a week to go shopping, play a round of golf or a set of tennis, have lunch with the girls, or get a manicure.  The only thing they do in the country is sleep.  Try inviting them to help with hog-slaughtering day in return for a share of the meat and watch them melt into a pale puddle of angst.
            But—take a look around you on Sunday morning and you will find that this magazine isn’t the only place for pretenders.  Some people go to church because you are "supposed to."  That's what good, moral people do.  I grew up around a lot of folks like that.  Some choose a place out of convenience, not because they believe what it teaches.  Others go because their parents raised them that way, not out of any real conviction.  Some go for the benefits—people come see you when you're sick, someone will always help out if you have a need, and there is always a preacher handy for weddings and funerals.
            So let's think about it this morning.  Why am I where I am on Sunday mornings?  If I can't come up with an answer beyond the ones above, I just might have a problem.  I might be no more a Christian than those folks I know who are not "country people," no matter where their home happens to be located.  God expects a commitment—one of the heart, one of faith, one of understanding what you believe and why, and being willing to stand up for it. 
God expects Christians who really are.
 
“As for you, son of man, your people who talk together about you by the walls and at the doors of the houses, say to one another, each to his brother, ‘Come, and hear what the word is that comes from the LORD.’ And they come to you as people come, and they sit before you as my people, and they hear what you say but they will not do it; for with lustful talk in their mouths they act; their heart is set on their gain. And behold, you are to them like one who sings lovely songs with a beautiful voice and plays well on an instrument, for they hear what you say, but they will not do it. (Ezek 33:30-32)
 
Dene Ward

It did not take long for this city girl to discover one common problem with country life--mice.  One morning I walked out to the kitchen to discover that the dog had had a playmate all night, and it was lying right in the doorway to the kitchen, all “played” out.  So we set out traps, especially in the large walk-in pantry/laundry area.  If anything would attract the mice we figured it would be the warmth from the water heater and the food on the shelves.
            The pantry shared a wall with the dining area.  One frigid morning we were eating breakfast when we suddenly heard a sharp snap, followed by a thump on that wall’s other side, then squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak, and a scrambling of tiny feet.  I didn’t think this was the way mousetraps were supposed to work, but what did I know?  Before that fall, I had never even seen one except on cartoons.
            Keith walked around, peered into the pantry, and started laughing.  When we had set the trap inside the door, we had pushed it in with the peanut butter side against the wall and the spring on the side toward the door.  Evidently the mouse had climbed onto the spring and when he started nibbling on the peanut butter, it had snapped, catapulting him into the wall.  Having survived the trap, he had run away unscathed except, perhaps, for a nasty bump on the head.
            That night we reset the trap, this time pushing it in the other way around.  Sure enough, as we were eating breakfast the next morning we heard the snap, followed by a deathly quiet.  Keith disposed of the interloper after we finished eating.
            That mouse thought he had found a way around the trap.  That dumb animal thought he was safe because one time he had had a nibble without it killing him.  If mice could think such things, I could just imagine, “It won’t happen to me,” coming out of his mouth, just like a few dumb humans I know of.  It isn’t enough to stay out of the trap—you have to stay completely away from it.  Thorns and snares are in the way of the perverse; He who keeps his soul shall be far from them, Prov 22:5.
            Job pictures the life of the wicked as nothing but snares, 18:8-10.  Jeremiah says they lay snares for the righteous, 5:26.  How do they do that?  By their very lifestyles.  We look, and we want, and we wish, and suddenly we do—just like they do.  God warned the Israelites not to even covet the gold and silver covering the idols, lest you be snared therein, Deut 7:25.  It is not enough to just want their lives and “not do the sins they do—I know better than that!”  How can we not eventually fall into the same things they did?  Because, like that mouse, we think we have found a way to nibble on one side and not be caught by the other.
            The Proverb writer says we are often ensnared “with the words of our own mouths,” 6:2.  We say we abhor sin, we say we don’t want to do bad things, but with the same mouth we idolize people who live without morals, without integrity, and without self-control, people who care nothing at all about God.  They may even wear crosses around their necks and thank the Lord in public, but they turn right around and profane Him with their lives.  And we think we wouldn’t be trapped by sin the same way they are?  How foolish, how immature can we be?
            Don’t glamorize sin.  Don’t worship those who do.  Don’t make the mistake of thinking you can sit on one side of the mousetrap and have a bite of something good, and a fun, and exciting ride to boot.  The next time you nibble, someone may very well have turned the mousetrap around.
 
But my eyes are toward you, O GOD, my Lord; in you I seek refuge; leave me not defenseless!
Keep me from the trap that they have laid for me and from the snares of evildoers!  Psalm 141:8,9.
 

In this part of Florida, summer begins in May.  The hot sun has traveled north and once again crosses directly over the house instead of the field.  The spring blooms have faded long ago—no more yellow jessamine cascading over the trellis, no more azaleas jacketed with blooms in every shade of pink and purple, no more jasmine sending out heavy clouds of sweet fragrance.  Now it's simply too hot.
            But—the blueberries are ready to be picked.  When we had our little blueberry patch we went out every other morning, plastic bucket in hand, and picked.  Before five minutes were up, I could feel the first prickles on my scalp and in the next five, the perspiration started rolling out of my hair.  Did I say it was hot?  But it was certainly worth it.
            At first, only a few were ripe enough, barely dusky blue, and we might have enough to throw in a bowl of cereal, or, if I saved them for three or four days, a batch of muffins or pancakes.  By the second week, things had improved and blueberry pie or a crisp was in the works.  By the end of the season we were loading up quart size plastic tubs and putting them in the freezer.  We usually pulled the last tub out sometime around March of the following year.  Blueberries almost all year long!
           Why didn't we pick them all at once, you ask?  Actually, you probably know the answer to that.  You only pick the ripe ones and they do not ripen all at the same time.  That's one reason it takes so long to pick.  You have to go limb by limb, berry by berry, in order to get the best.  There is a word for that—oddly enough, it's called "cherry-picking" because, I presume, when you pick cherries you do it exactly the same way, limb by limb, cherry by cherry, only picking the ones you really want.
            If we aren't careful, we do the same thing with the Bible.  We cherry-pick the commands we want to obey and ignore the rest.  They don't count.   They aren't important.   Whatever the metaphor might be for "ripe."  You think we would never do such a thing?  Let me show you a few.
            None of us would neglect Mark 16:16; Acts 2:38; Acts 22:16; 1 Pet 3:21 would we?  In fact, I bet you don't even need to look those up.  You already know that they refer to the command to be baptized.  Of course we need to be baptized.
            But the same God who commanded baptism also said, "Husbands love your wives as your own body" (Eph 5:28) and "Live with your wives in an understanding way, giving her honor…" (1 Pet 3:7). 
           The same who God who said, "Wives submit to your own husbands" (Eph 5:22) also said "[Everyone] submit to one another" (Eph 5:21) and "We who are strong have an obligation to bear the infirmities of the weak and not to please ourselves" (Rom 15:1). 
            The same God who said we should partake of the Lord's Supper on the first day of the week when we are gathered together (Acts 20:7) also said we are to "Sing and make melody to the Lord" (that's each individual) (Eph 5:19). 
         The same God who said, "Preach the Word" (2 Tim 4:2) also said, "Withdraw yourselves from every brother who walks disorderly" (2 Thes 3:6).
           Or as James the Lord's brother put it, the same God who said, "Thou shalt not kill" and "Thou shalt not commit adultery" also said we should not show bias toward another human being (James 2:8-11). 
            Now tell me we are not guilty occasionally of "blueberry-picking" among God's commands.  Usually it's something we want to excuse ourselves from because it is not as pleasant, not as easy, and might cause us embarrassment or even inconvenience.  Perhaps it means we will have to totally change our attitudes about what devotion to God really means.
           It's easy really.  If He said it, do it.  That's the way His child should obey.  Not judging his law as if we have the right to decide what is and is not important.  We cannot run to Matthew 23 and the Pharisees either.  See what Jesus said to them:  Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you tithe mint and dill and cumin, and have neglected the weightier matters of the law: justice and mercy and faithfulness. These you ought to have done, without neglecting the others (Matt 23:23).  Yes, some commands are "weightier" than others, but Jesus said, you do them both, not leave one undone because you don't want to do it—because that's what it really boils down to.
           God never meant us to go blueberry picking with His Law.  He just wants us to obey it.
 
For whoever keeps the whole law but fails in one point has become accountable for all of it (Jas 2:10).
 
Dene Ward
 

Neighbors are different out in the country.  First of all, they are a whole lot further away.  Instead of zero lot line houses barely five feet apart, they are 5 to 50 acres apart.  You seldom even see one another to wave, except maybe at the lineup of mailboxes out on the highway.  In the country, if you want to see your neighbors, you have to make it happen.
            In the city a good neighbor often boils down to this:  he’s quiet and doesn’t cause any trouble.  There may be a particular neighbor or two you really become friends with, taking turns having one another over for dinner, going fishing together, loaning your lawn mower and babysitting once in a while, but the rest are confined to a nod when you pass one another on the street and a quick word over the backyard fence if you both happen to be out at the same time.
            In the country, because you are so far out of town and away from help, “neighbor” takes on a much larger meaning.  The very lifestyle means you have far more need of one another.  You pull one another’s vehicles out of the mud.  You tag team generators when the power goes out for more than a couple of hours.  You feed one another’s livestock when the other one has to be out of town a few days.  You swap garden tilling for tractor mowing and tomatoes for blueberries.  You help one another shell peas and shuck corn, and then work together one hot afternoon to get it all put up.  You help load sick, but heavy, pets in the pickup for a trip to the vet.  You trade shooting lessons for help wiring the shed.  You loan cars when one is in the shop, or chauffeur a sick neighbor to the doctor if you need it yourself.  If a widow is alone, you load up her woodstove and get it set, ready to light on a cold night.  If a husband is away and there is a household emergency—like the refrigerator door falling off!—you head down the lane immediately and screw it back on.  When a storm passes through and leaves a live oak half out of the ground leaning over a house, all the neighbors drop everything and run with their tractors, chains and chainsaws to help.  There is something a little more primal about being a neighbor in the country.
            We’ve had neighbors like that and we’ve tried to be neighbors like that in return.  I think it’s the sort of thing Jesus had in mind when he told the story of the Good Samaritan.  This isn’t a matter of borrowing a cup of sugar.  It isn’t about keeping the TV low in the wee hours or not parking on someone else’s property.  It’s about real life and death matters, real trials and suffering, and aiding in whatever way you can.
           Maybe the Levite and the priest were used to city neighbors.  This guy on the side of the road certainly wasn’t being a good neighbor to them, causing them all sorts of trouble and a delay in their schedules if they had stopped to help.  But the truth is, you can be a bad neighbor anywhere, country or city, and the Lord expects a whole lot more from us than that.  He expects us to do just as that Samaritan did, helping beyond the expected—just think what a couple night’s lodging would cost today—and yes, for a perfect stranger.  Was he a good guy or a good-for-nothing?  We don’t know and that’s the point.  If someone needs our help, we help, even a stranger and even when we don’t have time to check and see if we are being good stewards of our money.
           “Love thy neighbor as thyself” was recognized by Jews as the second greatest commandment.  Yet they argued long and hard over who exactly their “neighbor” was.  It most cases it boiled down to a good practicing Jew.  We’re big on castigating those Pharisaical Jews who knew the Law but explained it away.  I think we just might have the same problem.
 
For the whole law is fulfilled in one word: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself. (Gal 5:14)
 
Dene Ward

Boundary disputes once helped win an American presidential election. 
            In 1818, we signed a treaty with Great Britain agreeing to joint ownership of the Oregon Territory.  Citizens from both countries had settled there.  They eventually agreed to a boundary between America and Canada at the 49th parallel.  Then they both got greedy.  The British claimed anything north of the 42nd parallel.  Along came American expansionists who were willing to go to war in order to claim the disputed area up to the 54th 40 parallel for America. 
            Franklin Polk ran on the expansionist platform with the slogan "Fifty-four forty or fight," referring to what is now the southern border of Oregon, fifty four degrees, forty minutes north latitude.  On Dec 4, 1844, after an election that had run since November 1, he won the presidency.  However, he abandoned the fight and left the Oregon Territory boundary at the original line of agreement, the 49th parallel, where it still is today.
            We've had some boundary issues ourselves.  When we first moved onto this land, no one else lived on the parcels anywhere around us.  Everyone else bought for the investment and planned to sell later, and with the titles unclear (except for ours) the plots remained empty for a long time.  With no fences in place, the boys literally had their own version of the Hundred Acre Woods to play in. 
            When the first hard rains showed us how the land around here drained, and that we would soon be washed away if something weren’t done, the owners to the north of us plowed a ditch along that side to help us out.  It was required by law, but they were compliant and even stopped to make sure we were satisfied before their rented equipment went back to the store.  Yes, we were.  The ditch worked fine and we stayed dry.
            We assumed the ditch ran right along the northern edge of the property and used all the land up to it for our garden, for our yard, for flower beds, even for a post to hold guywires for our antenna.  When the land around us began to sell and people moved in, we finally had to put up a fence.  Imagine our surprise when we discovered that we had been using as much as five feet more land along the north boundary than was actually ours.  But of course, the surveyors were correct.  They had sighted along the boundary markers, white posts set on all four corners of our five plus acres.  I even had to dig up half of a lily bed one morning and transplant them elsewhere so they could put the fence along the correct line.
            The Israelites were aware of boundaries and the landmarks that outlined them.  “You shall not move your neighbor's landmark, which the men of old have set, in the inheritance that you will hold in the land that the LORD your God is giving you to possess. Deut 19:14.  It was a matter of honesty and integrity.  “‘Cursed be anyone who moves his neighbor's landmark.’ And all the people shall say, ‘Amen.’ Deut 27:17.  And this is just talking about land.  Imagine if someone moved a landmark that showed something even more important than that.
            The princes of Judah have become like those who move the landmark… Hos 5:10.  The wicked kings of God’s people had blurred the lines between right and wrong, between good and evil.  The standard became which will make me wealthier or more important among my peers, rather than which is right in the eyes of God.  Which is more convenient, which is easier, which do I like the best, which appeals to my lusts?  All of these have been used to move the boundaries of right and wrong in people’s lives for thousands of years.  When the government does it too, we have an instant excuse.  After all, it’s not against the law, is it?
            Do you think it hasn’t happened to us?  What do you accept now that you would never have accepted thirty years ago because you knew that the Bible said it was wrong?  Now people come along and tell you the Bible is a book of myths or the Bible only means what you want it to mean.  They have moved the landmark, and many have accepted it.
            God does not move landmarks.  What He says goes—then and now.  He may have changed the rituals we perform in each dispensation, but basic morality—right and wrong--has not and will not change.  Even Jesus used the argument, “But from the beginning it was not so…” (Matt 19:8). 
            We can move the landmarks all we want, but we will still wind up on the Devil’s property, and God will know the difference, whether we accept it or not.
 
​Do not move an ancient landmark or enter the fields of the fatherless, for their Redeemer is strong; he will plead their cause against you. Prov 23:10-11
 
Dene Ward

Benjamin Franklin was one of the most amazing men who ever lived.  Besides being one of the founding fathers of America, he was a printer, publisher, author, inventor, scientist, and diplomat.  He began writing his own autobiography in 1771, many years before his death in 1790, and never finished it.  It exists in four parts, the final part being the shortest and not begun until a few months before he died. 
           The publication of that book has a long and complex history.  An English version was published in 1793 but that was a year after both a German and Swedish version had been published.  Also, that English version was a translation of a French translation of the original English, which means that being doubly translated, Franklin's original intention in the words was likely "lost in translation."  So how did we get that French translation?  On November 13, 1789, Franklin himself sent a copy to his friend Louis Guillaume Le Veillard.  In 1791, Franklin's grandson, William Temple Franklin, traded the final manuscript he owned for that original.  Meanwhile, Veillard had already had it translated, and that translation was purchased by the Library of Congress in 1908 (www.loc.gov).
          Today, consider a portion of that autobiography dealing with the invention of the Franklin stove, which Franklin himself considered one of his more important inventions.  In those days, most homes were heated by fireplaces.  Anyone who has tried to do that understands that most of the heat goes right up the chimney.  In addition people were dying every year due to the hazards of fireplaces, and on top of that, Pennsylvania was experiencing a wood shortage. 
           Ben Franklin tackled all those issues by creating a freestanding fireplace that burned wood efficiently, using less wood and producing more heat with less danger.  The first Franklin stove was called a Pennsylvania Fireplace, and though its original model was not perfect, it was the precursor of today's wood stoves and fireplace inserts.  Although he was offered one, he refused to patent it stating in his autobiography, "That as we enjoy great advantages from the inventions of others, we should be glad of an opportunity to serve others by an invention of ours…"
             We installed an insert in our fireplace when we lived in South Carolina for three years.  The difference in the heating value between it and a fireplace was like night and day.  Now I live in Florida but up here in North Florida we still have a little bit of winter.  Usually on cold nights, we fill up our freestanding Ashley woodstove, which burns out by morning and we don’t need any more till the next night, or maybe not for a few nights, depending upon the vagaries of cold fronts.  Sometimes, though, I have had to keep that fire burning all day, adding a log or two every couple of hours.  You see, if you let it burn down too far, it goes out.  Even adding wood will do you no good if the coals are no longer glowing.
            Sometimes we let our souls go out.  Instead of stoking the fire, adding fuel as needed, we seem to think we can start it up at will and as needed, with just a single match I suppose.  Try holding a match to a log—a real log, not a manufactured pressed log with some sort of lighter fluid soaked into it.  You will find that you cannot even get it to smoke before the match dies.  Starting a fire anew takes a whole lot more effort than just keeping the old one going.
            God has a plan that keeps the fire going.  He has made us a spiritual family.  He commands us to assemble on a weekly basis.  He has given us a regular memorial feast to partake of.  He has given us his Word to read any time we want to.  He will listen to us any time of the day.  And perhaps, knowing how he has made us, that is why those songs he has given us keep going round in our heads all week—words at the ready to help us overcome and to remind us who we are.  All of these things will keep the fire from dying.  Just as those people who actually saw and heard Jesus on a daily basis said, “Did not our hearts burn within us while he talked to us on the road, while he opened to us the Scriptures?" Luke 23:32, his voice can come to us through the Word, through the teaching in our assemblies, and through the brothers and sisters he has given us.
            Once a month attendance won’t keep the fire burning.  Seeing our spiritual family only at the meetinghouse will not stoke the fires of brotherly love.  Picking up our Bibles only when we dust the coffee table won’t blow on the embers enough to keep them glowing.  Sooner or later my heart will grow cold, and no one will be able to light a big enough match to get it warm again. 
            Our God is a consuming fire, and he expects that to be exactly what happens to us—for us to become consumed with him and his word and his purpose.  Nothing else should matter as much. 
            Take a moment today to open up that woodstove of a heart and see how the fire looks.  Throw in another log before the fire goes out. 
 
My heart became hot within me. As I mused, the fire burned; then I spoke with my tongue: "O Lord, make me know my end and what is the measure of my days; let me know how fleeting I am! Behold, you have made my days a few handbreadths, and my lifetime is as nothing before you. Surely all mankind stands as a mere breath! Selah.  Surely a man goes about as a shadow! Surely for nothing they are in turmoil; man heaps up wealth and does not know who will gather! And now, O Lord, for what do I wait? My hope is in you. Psalm 39:3-7.
 
Dene Ward

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

We have had some cold this winter, more than in recent years.  Over the holidays we had at least two nights in the low to mid 20s, and have had quite a few in the 30s and 40s.  If you are north of the Florida-Georgia line that may not seem too bad to you, but for us, it's noteworthy.  It means when we go out in the mornings for our third cup of coffee and to throw treats for Chloe, we head for the east fire pit rather than sit on the breezy carport.  Even with layers of shirts, sweaters and coats, and even in sunny Florida, those plastic chairs feel cold to the backside, so we pile on the firewood, usually deadwood gathered from around the property.  If the fire is more smoke than flame, a good piece of fat lighter will usually get it going hot and strong, and a handful of pine straw provides the strong, hot, and immediate blaze our bodies crave for comfort. 
            After a few minutes we are finally warming up, both outside and in.  The hardwoods will begin to coal up and suddenly, though the flames may be lower, the heat is much higher.  I often need to turn a bit to the sides to keep my pants and the legs within them from scorching.  Sometimes we even need to push our chairs back a foot or two, and Chloe suddenly prefers to sit to the side on her pile of carefully raked up pine straw rather than right next to us.  When it gets that hot, all you have to do is look up and even on a perfectly still morning, see the leaves on the branches 30 feet above our heads dancing in the heat waves.  Hot air rises, they taught us in science class, and there is the proof of it.
            The Bible uses "heat" as a metaphor for anger, particularly when referring to God's anger.  He let loose on them his burning anger, wrath, indignation, and distress…(Ps 78:49).  But the same figure is used of our anger as well.  ​A hot-tempered man stirs up strife…(Prov 15:18).  Before we go too far along with this, we would do well to remember that anger is not necessarily a sin.  Be angry and sin not, Paul says in Eph 4:26.  But too often, that becomes the excuse du jour, a little too handy and too often used.  Still, we are right to be angry about some things.  ​Hot indignation seizes me because of the wicked, who forsake your law (Ps 119:53), but I fear that too often, our anger has nothing to do with our defense of God, righteousness and justice, but simply of ourselves and what was done to us.
            If a man has a constant problem with anger, the real issue isn't what caused the anger, but the fact that he is simply an angry man.  Anything can raise his hackles at the least provocation, and just like the heat from our morning fire, it will rise to the top, causing turmoil and upset.  It is not just his problem; it affects everyone around him.  As charcoal to hot embers and wood to fire, so is a quarrelsome man for kindling strife (Prov 26:21).  And perhaps worse, Make no friendship with a man given to anger, nor go with a wrathful man, lest you learn his ways and entangle yourself in a snare (Prov 22:24-25).  An angry man is not a happy man and he had rather no one else be happy either.  It should go without saying that he is no fun to be around.
            Many angry men have the mistaken idea that their anger is a sign of strength.  God says otherwise.  A man with a quick temper is a fool (Prov 14:17; Eccl 7:9)).  He has no understanding (Prov 14:29).  He is weak (16:32), and he has no sense (19:11).  That's what God thinks of him. 
            So when you notice the hot air rising, especially within yourself, take a step backwards and reflect.  Why are you so easily angered?  (It can happen to women as well as men, you know.)  What has gotten so deep inside your heart that you can no longer control it?  No bad day or difficult circumstance can ever excuse it.  For some who are deeply damaged, it might require some professional help, but for the average person, it is a choice he makes when he decides to let anger take the controls.  Other people experience the same difficulties and manage to handle them in a righteous manner, including the Lord when he was on this earth.  With him on your side, so can you.
 
Know this, my beloved brothers: let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger; for the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God (Jas 1:19-20).
 
Dene Ward

A long time ago, a local farmer allowed Keith to milk his cow.  The farmer furnished the cow and the feed, while Keith furnished the labor, and we split the milk.  Our cut was usually a gallon a day, which was good with two boys who drank it by the quart.  I also used the cream to make our own butter.  There is nothing quite like a Southern pound cake made with homemade butter, homemade sour cream, and eggs fresh out of the chicken that morning.  Our mashed potatoes were so creamy you might as well have troweled them onto your hips, and the homemade ice cream so rich it had flecks of butter in it.
            When a dairy cow needs milking, it needs milking, period.  Keith was away overnight once, not due back till late afternoon the next day.  All I could think about was that poor cow.  Having nursed babies, I understood her pain.  Surely I could take care of this, I thought, and help both of them.
            This cow was known to be a kicker.  She had only recently gotten used to Keith, finally allowing him to milk her while she ate feed from the trough.  I knew the drill, so I got a bucket of feed and headed for the corral.  I also knew her penchant for kicking, so I put on Keith’s jacket and hat before I left the house.  I thought I would look and smell like him and she would never know the difference.
            As I headed for the stall she saw me coming, and began a slow walk in my direction.  I made my first mistake.  Keith always called her with the same phrase every day, so I did too, lowering my voice as much as possible.  The cow stopped and looked at me across the fence railing.  For a few minutes I thought she had me, but I held up the bucket so the scent of the feed reached her on the breeze, and she started walking again.
            After that I kept my mouth shut.  I simply poured the feed into the trough and waited for her to put her head down.  Then I reached out and started milking.  Instantly her head was up again, and she looked over her shoulder at me.  I stepped back, keeping a careful eye on her hind legs, ready to jump if she looked like she was even thinking about kicking. 
            For a long moment we stood there eying one another.  Finally, she gave a snort and shake of the head.  The jig was up, as they say.  For all the world it looked like she was saying, “I really need this right now, so go ahead.  But don’t think I’m not on to you.”  She put her head back in the trough, and I began milking again.  It was a compromise.  She gave me just enough to get the pressure off her aching udder, but not enough so I would think she had not seen through my disguise.  A quart later, she stepped back from the trough, and I took both the hint and the milk into the house.  When Keith got home, she gladly let him finish the job.
            Isaiah had a lot to say about this same point.  If a cow—a dumb unreasoning animal—can know its master, why can’t we so-called intelligent human beings recognize ours?  If a donkey knows where to get its sustenance, why can’t we figure out who we must depend upon? 
            Have you ever seen a cow path?  Cows learn when it is time to head for the barn, and they take the shortest route every evening at the same time, following one another down the path, until it is beaten from their hooves and so obvious anyone could follow it.  I look around our world every day and marvel at how many smart people don’t seem to have a clue where the path is, and what’s more, brag about it.  Then I look at God’s people and cry for all the ones who claim to be His children, but act the same way.
 
Hear, O heavens, and give ear, O earth; for Jehovah has spoken: I have nourished and brought up children, and they have rebelled against me.  The ox knows his owner, and the ass his master's crib; but Israel does not know, my people do not consider, Isa 1:2,3.
 
Dene Ward

Every afternoon following our midday meal, we walk our property, counting new blooms on the roses, smelling the jasmine, and looking beneath those large scratchy leaves for new squash blossoms.  Usually I end up with a handful of wildflowers, blooms so tiny I cannot see them until Keith hands me one I can pull up close.
            Do you know what I see?  Blooms of all colors--red, pink, blue, white, yellow, orange, purple in all shades and combinations—and shapes—bells, tubes, bowls, cups, stars with five or six points, some flared, some rayed, some as complex as orchids.  And did you know that even the stems are different?  Some are wiry, some are leafless, some are hairy, some sprawl and others stand up straight, and some are square!  Some of these flowers are exquisite, but most of us don’t know that.  We’ve never taken the time to bend over and really look.
            A long time ago a woman who has since become a close friend, told me that looking across the pews at Keith had made her think he was stern and unapproachable, and so she had decided to make it a point to get to know him.  It wasn’t really Keith’s fault.  He has large, piercing blue eyes that look like they’re boring into you, a strong Roman nose, and a voice that, because he is profoundly deaf, is always in projection mode.  Even when he isn’t, he often sounds disapproving, and is always loud, which is often translated “angry.”  A lot of people just go with that first impression.  This woman did not, and she proclaimed that year of getting to know him “delightful.”   I wonder how many others have missed out on that delight, how many have formed an opinion, and kept it despite what others might have said.
            How many do we overlook?  The elderly because we think them dull and uninteresting?  The teenagers because we’ve branded them all shallow and naïve?  The disabled because we think they have nothing to offer?  The scholarly and intellectual because we think those dry old men can’t possibly know how to have any fun?  The ones who seem so well put-together that we think they wouldn’t possibly want anything to do with “someone like me?”  None of these judgments is fair.            
          Jesus told the Jews, “Judge not according to appearance, but judge righteous judgment,” John 7:24.  Maybe I should take the time (sacrifice) to bend over (be humble) and examine (make some effort) a few wildflowers out there, instead of passing over them (negligence) as if they weren’t worth my trouble (arrogance).  When I think of it that way, I finally understand why judging by appearance is NOT righteous.
 
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      
                          
Dene Ward