Little Miss Eager
Little Miss Eager
The hungry chicken flies the coop the instant the canvas roof of her pen rolls back. She is eager for her feed and desperately wants to be first to the bowl! But, of course, now that she is outside of the coop, feed is exactly what she cannot have. Because I have just filled the dish for all the other birds and she — Little Miss Eager — is now, paradoxically, the only one WITHOUT feed.
Trying to help her back to safety (and breakfast), I attempt to catch the escapee in the misty morning dew. I chase her around the mobile coop to the left and she goes right. I reverse and so does she. I may have a bigger brain, but she is decidedly faster. (That designation doesn’t say much, mind you, but it’s definitely true!) I nearly have her as she hops on top of the coop. But instead, I find myself with only a handful of feathers, and a thoroughly panicked bird who’s convinced I’m trying to kill her. Birdbrain!
Eventually I am forced to bring in the Big Guns, my sixteen year old daughter. She’s none-too-pleased to be summoned to the early morning chase scene, but once she sees a bird on the run, the game is on. Together we hem her in and force her into a corner. In a panic she attempts to fly. (Chickens aren’t very good at this, but she does her best.) Much to her horror, her desperate maneuver lands her… right into my arms. Phew!!!
I roll back the cover and gently return her to her friends. I throw a bit of extra feed her way, and suddenly, she is content once again, happily pecking and scratching her way to a full tummy.
Her need this morning was both legitimate and pressing. She was hungry and by golly she was gonna get her some food! But her fretful attempts to provide for herself were disastrous. Hmmm. There might be something in this for me. I roll the concept around in my mind all day, wondering where I might do exactly the same thing.
*******
It’s now a few weeks later, and some truths from this situation are crystalizing for me. Let me tell you how that happened.
I have a real and legitimate need for restorative practices in my life. (So do you, by the way!) One such “practice” that especially calls to me is horseback riding. We raise cattle (and chickens, in case you missed that) and had recently added a horse to the mix. The cows are my hubby’s delight, the chickens are my daughter’s fascination, and the horse was quickly becoming my heart song.
Shortly after her arrival, I was eager to rider. (When I say “eager,” envision a little girl, so giddy with delight that she’s trembling.) After I had brushed her and cleaned her hooves, I walked her around the small area that I intended to use, checking for any potential dangers that might trip us up. Once we both felt comfortable with the space, at last, it was time. With eagerness that I had not felt since Christmas mornings as a child, I prepared for our maiden solo voyage.
As I carried the saddle and pad to where my glorious new friend was tied, I felt a gentle nudge. “Not today,” the voice seemed to say. “This is not the right time for a ride.” The message was subtle and easily dismissed in my excited state. And that is just what I did. Beyond dismissing, though, I mentally argued. “On the contrary, this is the perfect day for a ride. I have all of my other responsibilities completed, its sunny but cool, what could be better? Besides, I need this, Lord! Isn’t this exactly what you have provided for me?”
Once the saddle was on and I was switching her from halter to bit and bridle, I felt the impression again. “You’re pushing it, Sarah. You need to wait.” I shook my head and pressed the warning from my mind. I was desperate for the both the beauty and the solitude of a ride and I was determined to make it happen… right now.
Not ten minutes from the time of that final warning, I found myself lying on the ground, screaming in agony with a badly broken arm. Due to a rookie mistake, my saddle had slipped and I lost my seat. This is not the first time I have fallen off of a horse. But I have to admit, it’s been many years since it’s happened, and my middle aged bones were not nearly as forgiving as my younger ones had been. It was not pretty.
What followed included a lovely weekend stay in the hospital, a fancy new plate and screws now holding my upper arm together, and a radically reduced summer schedule. Nearly three weeks later I still can’t even fully dress myself. TMI perhaps, but just keepin’ it real!
*******
So I don’t know if you caught that or not, but in grasping and scrambling to meet my own needs, I did exactly what that silly chicken did. I deprived myself of the very thing I so badly wanted. It will be this fall before I can even think about riding again. And I called her a birdbrain?!?
Over the past few weeks, as I have pondered this major re-direct of our summer, I keep thinking about Psalm 131:2
“Surely I have calmed and quieted my soul,
Like a weaned child with his mother;
Like a weaned child is my soul within me.”
Oh how I want to learn this — to become the weaned child! The UNweaned child, of course, wails with life and death urgency at each new pang of hunger. It’s ALWAYS an emergency. But the weaned child has learned something. She has learned to TRUST! She knows that each time she experiences that nasty feeling of hunger, she will not die. Rather, she will be comforted and cared for. She need only ask. She is calmed and quieted just knowing that mother will soon make it right. “Surely I have calmed and quieted my soul like a weaned child with his mother.”
I, too, can become the trusting child. I have needs, but I also have One who cares. I need only to make my requests known, and then I can rest; I can trust. He does not always act on my time table. He does not usually intervene in the way that I thought He should. But He ALWAYS cares for me. ALWAYS. And I think it’s time to remember that. The next time my fussy soul is pushing ahead and arguing with the still, small voice, I think I’m going to remind her of that reality. I think I am going to choose the peaceful path of trust.
Wow!!!! How beautiful is the story you shared and it has implications for all of us who sometimes rush ahead and drown out the still small voice of our savior. Thank you for sharing and offering me the opportunity to contemplate…….
Great story! Good to see you up and some mobile again. Keep writing and expressing your thoughts and ideas. By the way, always pull the synch as tight as you can then give it one more tug! I know you know this.
UPat
PS. You do know about the knee to the belly before that last tug, Right?
Such a beautiful story for all of us who try to direct our own lives…but He is always there to gently remind us that He is Father and knows best…thank you for sharing with us and reminding us we are so much more alike then we could ever realize….love you
Great connection at such a painful cost! I’m glad you’re on the mend ❤️ I’ll be rolling this around in my birdbrain for the next several days!
This is beautiful. I love Psalm 131. I am so sorry about your arm, and I am grateful for you humble heart in letting Jesus meet you and sharing that with us. Keep writing, Sarah! Hugs!
Sarah, your exquisite ability to express your thoughts never eases to amaze me! It’s so true that we have to go through some hard lessons to learn to obey that small still voice.
The hand of God is more visible when looking in the rearview mirror, but most people miss it anyway. Sarah didn’t. Recognizing it in the present tense is the goal–to seek. Fortunately He wants seekers and to help them become finders. His wonderful mercy and grace!