Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Little Lost Hen

Today was a great day. The sun was out, the grass was mostly dry (although nearly a foot tall) and my youngest was itching to annoy his siblings. My husband came home to a hot cooked meal and (RANT WARNING!) he immediately hit my "I'm seriously annoyed with you" button so I was looking for an easy way out of the house, without it looking like I was just escaping to avoid cleaning up the kitchen.
So... I did what any other Mother would do and I donned work gloves, rubber boots and my favorite hoodie. I hauled my son Christian out of the house with me, in his snow boots (because he can't find rubber ones that fit) and a pair of mismatched gardening gloves. We were gonna find us something to do in the yard! It didn't take long to assign him a job, because the evidence of our recent windstorm was still strewn all over our jungle lawn, and we all know that sticks aren't friendly with lawnmowers.

While he picked up sticks, I puttered around the chicken coop cleaning out the nests and discarding stuff that needed discarding. Unfortunately one of our ol' hens decided to lay her last egg, and she had quit life right on the nest. It was a sorry sight for sure. I scooped up her perty little self and she got a free ride to the front yard in a green bucket. I asked my son if he wanted to take a little walk so we could take care of the hen on the far side of our property. He was a little sad about the hen, and he walked with me to go send her on to wherever chickens go after they die.

We walked the long way down to the river while we checked the banks (which are shrinking every year due to some pretty bad erosion from the floods). We decided that her final resting place needed to be near the water. He helped me out, and soon we were saying goodbye to the sweet little adopted hen whose breed was always a mystery to us, but who gave us a cute set of chicks this last year.

My son turned to walk away. He wasn't noticeably upset, but you could smell the smoke from the wheels in his brain turning and I knew something was going on. Suddenly he turned back around, and grabbed my hands firmly in his. His eyes were squeezed shut as tight as he could get them and out of the blue he started praying. I am attached to my chickens, and although I really like them, I didn't shed any tears over a completely natural death. But man... I darn near burst out crying just witnessing the precious words tumbling over my little boy's lips. He prayed that wherever chickens go after they die, that this particular chicken would be well cared for and he thanked Jesus for the time we got to spend with her. He is sure that since chickens give us so much joy on earth, that there would surely be chickens in heaven. This hen was a beauty. A wheaton color, and one of the most nervous chickens I've ever owned. Rightfully so, as she had been captured wandering the streets of the neighboring community and was dropped off at our house by a complete stranger who wanted to make sure she was cared for.

Sometimes I feel like we are like lost little hens. We wander the streets in search of some protection, some nourishment and some shelter. Our Heavenly Father scoops us up, and puts us right where we need to be, as long as we're willing to trust Him, and allow Him to lift us up. He puts us with families that love us, friends that deeply care, mentors to guide us, and yet He continues to watch over us even when we think we don't need Him. Sure, we run into the occasional difficulty, the days we get forgotten by others, the times when danger lurks just outside the fence of safety, or when we get ourselves into predicaments that seem impossible, but you know what? That's life. That's life for everyone. And death is a part of life. It's how you live your life now that determines what your death will be like.

Trust God, allow Him to guide your steps. Believe that He is who he says he is. Rely on the fact that He has your bests interests in mind, and live your life accordingly. Accept the blessings that come your way, and bless others along the path of your life while you're at it. You will be richly rewarded.

I don't know about you, but like my son, I sure hope I get to keep chickens on my little farm in heaven. I just kinda hope they have chickens that don't poop :o)

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Drug of Choice

I'm here to admit something today, to open myself up like a book and let everyone see just what has really been going on in my life. I'm not sure if anyone else has problems with addictions, or addictive behaviors, but I've got to share something that's really been weighing me down. Here goes.

I'm addicted to fabric.

There, I said it. I love fabric. I love the designs, I love the feel, I love the colors, I love the simplicity of some, and I love the intricacies of others. I can't help it. I could look at fabric for hours. And I have. And I will do it again. I'm ashamed of my addiction, but I've also not hit rock bottom yet. This means that for someone like me, trying to help me just won't work. I have to want to get better.

My husband is partially to blame because like every addict, I have to be able to blame my problems on someone else. It's pretty much his fault because he bought me that deliciously wonderful sewing machine. I'd never sewn more than a few hundred stitches in my life before this last few weeks. If he hadn't enabled me, I might be on the road to recovery, but it's just not so. I've fallen head over heels in love with words like "Jelly Roll, Layer Cake, Fat Quarter, Charm Pack and Honey Bun". I've also been known to sneak onto websites when my family isn't looking to get reminders on how to make a Disappearing 9 Patch for the next quilt I am working on. I've even been caught buying pre-cut squares on eBay. It's true... and as horrible as it sounds, I can't seem to stop thinking up new designs or color combinations.

I'm a lost cause. Don't even bother trying to get help or set up an intervention, because chances are I'll just bring you down with me. And you'll do it smiling. Just like I am.