A Bird in the Hand

I can’t confirm the chickens were actually praying when I moved them, but I suspect they were.  The wind had picked up suddenly and although it was brilliantly sunny, it was cooling down.  Looking out the window I decided the beasts looked rather tousled.  During the Q&A session that morning, my girlfriend stated you had to watch for the wind when the chickens were off-roading.  

No.  

Free ranging.  
  
Roaming chickens are happy chickens except when it is windy, which is why I went to find my friend to tell her the chickens were praying for deliverance.  

Problem was, I couldn’t find my girlfriend anywhere, so I decided to stage a chicken relocation.  It was going to be tricky because it involved me touching and picking up chickens.  Sounds easy, but I’ve been known to create a problem or two while being helpful.  What if I picked up the chicken incorrectly, resulting in wing flapping, which set off screaming?  What if I tossed the critter in the air in an attempt to get away from it?  What then?  The last thing I wanted to do was to lose a chicken, but I didn’t want them to die of exposure either, so I didn’t have much of a choice.   

One more waltz round the house didn’t procure my friend so out the front door I went.  I marched over to the chicken coop and shared my plan with the birds.  I explained I would pick them up, that there would be no wing flapping and I would deposit them back in their cage 20 feet away.  All members stared at me in silence which meant they agreed to the plan in principle.  I stood and prayed some more.  Pulling back the mesh, I place one foot in the run and bent down to grab my first chicken.  The miraculous happened, a fat pudgy chicken came running over and sat down by my foot.  Realizing this was my cue, I swallowed a scream, reached down and grabbed the chicken.

I should interrupt myself to tell you that chickens feel pretty weird.  The first thing you notice is their soft feathers as you come into contact.  You have to go beyond that though, because you have to grip them tightly or else you get wing flapping and that’s bad for chicken transport.  When you tighten your grip, you get the feeling you are grasping a bunch of straws because the feathers shaft adheres the feather to the wing.  When you have the chicken in your grasp, you have to lift the beggar and that is a good time to start praying.  It’s then you notice the chicken is warm and muscled and then it gets strange because you realize you are holding a bunch of chicken nuggets.  That’s where my introspection stops.

Back to the miracle.

My girlfriend mentioned the chickens would come to you when it was time for them to go back to their coop.  Naturally, I thought she was lying because she got her chickens recently and is very fond of them.  She’s not given to dishonesty, but frankly she’s in the honeymoon phase of her chicken relationship.  Her chickens can do no wrong: she’s still thrilled they lay food.  Turns out she wasn't lying and the chicken obliged by letting me lift its feathered body off the ground.   It kind of yodeled a bit but I was brave and managed to get the first beast back in the coop.  

Give God the glory because now I’m a farmer.   

Pleased with myself, I head back to the off-road area to grab chicken number two.  This chicken clearly understood the transport plan because it too obliged and stood still as I bent down.  It changed its mind causing me to shout and shuffle a bit but then decided against running and let me grab it without incident.  It was kind of amazing.  This process was repeated with alarming success until I got to the last three chickens.  These guys were not going to comply with the transport plan.  

Clearly the little duffers wanted back in their coop.  They would approach, but the moment I reached down to grab them, they would cluck and scoot away.  I stood still and sweetly repeated the transport plan.  The chickens clucked, swore and ran like mad in the opposite direction.  Realizing it wasn’t going to be pleasant, I steeled my nerve.  The race was on.

It took quite a while to catch the last three evil chickens.   My daughter tells me I’m not allowed to call the chickens evil, but she wasn’t there.  There was a fair amount of cursing, flapping and squawking and the chickens weren’t happy either.  (I'll skip the violent scene, because my farmer friend reads my blog and I haven't told her she's the topic this week.)  Finally all birds were accounted for, shut in the coop.  They clucked merrily and walked about together, recounting their adventures.   I was left amazed by their foolishness; running away instead of getting the required help.  

Believers can be that way.  I see it a lot in the female set, but then I spend more time with women than men.  Perhaps men are the same.  Women spend a lot of time before God in prayer, asking for the help needed to face their struggles.  Isolated and alone in their pain, they ask God for a friend to share their burden.  These same women, enter churches for worship and upon occasion, someone will ask “How are you?” or “How can I pray for you?” 

Strangely, though the request is sincere, it is impossible for some to answer the question honestly.  A hand of fellowship is offered, and the dear heart shies away and dodges.  An opportunity for connection is lost and the soul is left to circle the group, awaiting another chance for connection.  

It’s goofy behavior.  

I can identify.  After seven years of prayer, the Lord has seen fit grant my request.  He is bringing good things and instead of falling on my face in thankfulness, I started to wonder if I'm up for the challenge.  The Lord shows up: I chicken out.  

So I’m praying this week, for those of us who are looking for the courage to go where the Lord would lead us.  That we might have the heart to present ourselves honestly before him, so that we will find grace and mercy in our time of need.  Courage to face him so that he might scoop us up and lead us safely onward.  That we can work out our salvation with fewer feathers flying.

Thinking of you,

xoxKaren

Watch Your Step

“Karen?”  I lifted my head and focused my eyes on the man standing in front of me. The chair I was in was most uncomfortable, I have no idea how I managed to fall asleep.  “Yes, still here.  Where are we in this mess?”

"Well it’s getting late.  We’ve had an emergency, why don’t you take your daughter home and she can come in tomorrow morning.”  Instantly, I was wide awake.  “You have got to be joking.  There is no way I’m taking her home.  I’ve been waiting for 4 hours.  I can’t take her home like this, we will wait if we have too.” 

He looked at me and smiled, “Okay, I’ll tell them.  Hold on.”  With that, he turned, patted my daughter’s good foot and said, “Hang on there Tiger.”

My nine year old turned to me and exclaimed, “Did he want me to go home without fixing me?”  Amazement was written across her pale face.  “Noooo way. That would be horrible.  I can’t sleep, it feels so awful.”  Her eyes filled with tears and threatened to spill over. “It’s okay bunny,” I assured her.  “We aren’t leaving.  We will get this taken care of, don’t worry.”  I sat in surprised silence.  ‘Go home?  With half a needle in her foot?  Are they out of their minds, like I’m going to drive home again, put her to bed only to have her melt down when the discomfort hits…….' I realized I was wringing my hands as my self-talk walked me down paths of unrighteous dread.  I sighed and started praying. 

That’s not entirely true.  

First, I texted my husband and blessed him with a caustic analysis of the doctor’s state of mind.  “This doctor is insane.  He actually suggested I take her home because they are busy.  I think he might be one of those guys who is so overwhelmed he takes drugs.  Maybe he’s been awake for three days straight.  I expect he doesn’t have children yet…”  My hubby reassured me the physician in question was not a drug addict and was trying to lessen my wait time.  I preferred to viciously attack the doctor’s outlandish suggestion because I was feeling cross and wanted to take it out on someone.  

That’s actually when I started praying. 

The last few hours had been horrible and I couldn’t believe anyone would suggest we return home without getting the blasted needle out of my child’s foot.  It happened so suddenly. I looked at the copy of the x-ray on my lap. Uncanny really.  How she had managed to skiff her foot across the floor with enough force to cause the needle to enter it was mysterious.  That she snapped the end off when she stepped down, causing the internal piece to disappear under her skin, was frightening.  Big sister found what was left of the offending metal in the carpet, husband gave me a meaningful look and we were off to the emergency room.

Four hours later, a nice doctor was suggesting I take my child home.  I wondered what he was thinking.  What would possess anyone to hang on to something that painful when it could be removed?  Every time she moved her toes, the metal slipped deeper into her foot.  It was uncomfortable, unpleasant and unbearable. 

“Karen?”  

“Still here, hello.”  I turned and smiled.  “Any news?” 

“You bet. I’ve pulled together a team.  We’ve had a busy night, but I’ve grabbed some nurses.  We’ll start surgery in about 15 minutes, okay?”   

An hour and a half later I was piggy backing my little up the stairs to our flat.  The clock read 2:00 am as I helped her put on jammies and boosted her into bed.  Ducking into my bedroom, I told my man all was well.  I brushed my teeth, grabbed a blanket and returned to the living room.  I needed a moment to think before I slept. I thanked the Lord for medical care, for those who minister in hospitals and for little girls before I drifted off.  

Months later, I’m still amazed the doctor tried to send us home without treatment.  He was minimizing the need to get rid of the needle.  As if my daughter would be fine to return home, despite the fact she was unable to walk or move without pain.  It got me to thinking about how I sometimes I ignore my sinful behavior and am content to let sin continue unchecked.  Like the doctor, I pretend the offending object can stay put, until a more convenient time to remove it.  It is human nature to pretend our sinful behaviors don't exist.  We accuse others of materialism but don't pay our tithes.  We watch filthy shows online even though we know such viewing is unacceptable.  We ignore our own misbehavior.  It is good to remember that the Lord isn't fooled by our willful blindness.  

Little children, let no one deceive you. Whoever practices righteousness is righteous, as he is righteous. Whoever makes a practice of sinning is of the devil, for the devil has been sinning from the beginning. The reason the Son of God appeared was to destroy the works of the devil. No one born of God makes a practice of sinning, for God's[b] seed abides in him, and he cannot keep on sinning because he has been born of God.    By this it is evident who are the children of God, and who are the children of the devil: whoever does not practice righteousness is not of God, nor is the one who does not love his brother. 1 John 3:7-10

When I consider scripture, God is able to convict me of behaviors and attitudes that must cease.  What about you dear friend?  Do you have anything outrageously misplaced in your world?  Anything lodged in your life that is making it hard to walk with the Lord?  An unclean allegiance, a destructive habit or shameful secret can do a lot of damage if left to fester.   I have found over and over again, that if we are honest and spend time in the discipline of prayer, God will condescend to help us in our weakness.  He alone can remove our offense and pain in order to get us walking alongside him again.

I pray that on this Father’s day, you might know the goodness of God and find the healing you seek.

I’m praying for you,

xoxKaren   

Not Caring about Sharing

Hello my Friend!

I didn’t write you last week and I’m feeling bad about it.  I wish I could report adventures kept me from communicating but I’d be lying.  By the time Sunday dawned, I was so discouraged I put myself in quarantine instead of writing.  It’s hard to be encouraging when you hate the entire planet.  When you believe nothing will solve the world’s problems but the rapture, wisdom dictates a time out.  I decided to engage in serious tea time therapy.  Three cups later smoke was still coming out of my ears.

It hadn’t been a bad weekend either.  Saturday was spent with a group of homeschoolers.  They rented a church for a fancy shindig and I nobly signed up to volunteer: I enjoy the busyness of gatherings.  Placed on kitchen duty, I spend the majority of my time shuffling platters of yumminess from the kitchen to the hall.  It was an afternoon of honest back breaking labor with hardworking friends.  It was nice.  Until it wasn’t…….

It’s been a rough year as far as churches are concerned.  I’m supposed to be learning something, but I think I’m failing the lesson.  Since September, I have witnessed 4 churches behave in ways I wish they hadn’t. I’m not certain the Lord was impressed either.  Truth be told, I’m trying to say these places behaved like selfish, deranged, over privileged teenage monsters without coming out and saying it directly.

How am I doing?  Subtle enough for you?

Before you give me trouble, let me assure you I’m not expecting perfection.  I don’t need the “church-is-a-hospital-for-sinners-so-expect-sin” lecture; that won’t help me because it isn’t the sin of these churches that has caused their problems, it’s their success.  I decided this as I watched a church staff member lose his spleen on a hard working volunteer.  I had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the right time and witnessed this fellow's face turn as red as his shirt as he explained everything the volunteer committee had done wrong.  Without going into details, something broke, not a person, not a heart, but part of the building.  The cost of the repair was minimal and the fellow was having a bad day.  I know because I’ve turned red and lost my spleen too.   

I think the problem starts with chairs.  Once a church starts buying chairs things get tricky.  It should be stated that acquiring a building generally happens before chairs are purchased.  Sometimes, church buildings come with chairs and that is a bonus.  Regardless, if the building comes with chairs or not, people are blessed to own a church building.  They say things like, “God was kind to give us this building and we are truly thankful.” And they are.  This thankfulness continues unabated for quite a while.  Members are happy paying a mortgage instead of rent and everyone is pleased.  So happy in fact, that they drink juice and eat cookies, it’s a really good time. 

Years can pass and members move into their new home and become versed in the power of chewing gum and coffee stains.  They are blessed church building owners.  At some point though, if the Lord sees fit to grow the congregation, someone is bound to say “Hey, don’t you think it would be a good idea if we bought some chairs?”  Of course, another congregant will agree because who doesn’t like chairs? 

Did you know chairs are stupid expensive?  Look it up sometime, you’ll be amazed.  The church is amazed too, but purchases the chairs anyway because people at church need a place to stash their mochas. This is when things get tricky.  The church becomes known in the community for having rooms with seating.  Organizations that don’t have building or chairs, are continually looking to rent places that have them.  Churches fit the bill and are willing to share their space with building-less groups.  This agreement works fairly well until something happens to the church’s chairs.  Here’s why – chairs can break.  There are many reasons why this happens but sadly when a building-less group breaks a churches chair the mochas will fly.

I have a theory and I’m willing to share it.

Churches are good at remembering God owns their buildings.  Maybe because they are adorned with crosses.  It’s hard to be a selfish shellfish when you are staring at the symbol representing the Lord’s crucifixion.  Churches are not as good at remembering the chairs belong to God too.  I think it’s because the chairs cost so much, but we covered that…. I suspect that if we put crosses on every chair in the church, it might be easier to remember our possessions belong ultimately to the Lord.

I don’t want to go all Christianese on you but here’s the truth, we make up the church.

Just as a body, though one, has many parts, but all its many parts form one body, so it is with Christ.  For we were all baptized by one Spirit so as to form one body—whether Jews or Gentiles, slave or free—and we were all given the one Spirit to drink.  Even so the body is not made up of one part but of many. 1 Cor 12:12-14

So if I’m finding the church kind of lame and bad at sharing their resources, it makes sense that I would reflect upon how I’m doing in these areas.  (Badly I think, I was so cross with one of my children for spilling tea in the car I told her she couldn't drive my car till she was 30.) And because I love company I wanted to ask you friend, how are you with sharing your toys these days?  I urge you to take an inventory and reflect on the past year.  Have you conveyed the message that people are more important than possessions?  That the scratched paint job on your car is less important than the teen who backed into the parking meridian?  That relationship is the most valuable treasure you can possess?

Summer is a great time to get generous, work on relationships and share your sandbox.

I’m praying for you this week,

xoxKaren