Sometimes, at dusk, a tremendous ruckus will explode in the yard. One evening, I rushed out, sure to see some predator laying claim to one of our birds. But alas! The noise was coming from a hen trying to roost in a bush. A small bush. A small bush with no support branches. So the silly girl kept falling to the ground, then she flapped her wings enough to get back up on the bush, only to fall to the ground again. At dusk, since the birds slow down, evidently, so does their mental capacities – at least for this gal. I waited until she achieved her lofty position again and grabbed her before she fell and then carried her to the house where she would be safe for the night.
On another evening, I closed the hen house door. A little while later, I glanced out the window and noticed that a hen didn’t get in the hen house.
“Where was she? And why didn’t she come in with the rest of the birds?” I thought to myself.
“Tell me again why we have chickens?!” I muttered as I went back outside to catch her and put her inside the hen house. She saw me coming and forgot that I was the one who fed her daily; I was the one who provided the house that she failed to enter; I was the one who maintained the perimeter of the yard so as to keep predators away; I was the one paying the mortgage on the land on which she left her. . . droppings. She squawked in alarm at my approach. I stopped. She stopped. I slowly walked around to the back of the hen house. I stopped. She forgot I was there as she perched on the support beam on the front of the hen house. Moving slower than molasses in January, I reached for the net. I stopped. I moved the net to my side so as to hide it with my body. I stopped. I inched toward the front where she slowly wagged her head from side to side as her body slowed down for the night. I waited. I hate waiting. I waited some more til her head almost stopped wagging. I inched some more. After I inched close enough, I quickly swung the net, capturing the little escapee. Finally! She squawked and squawked, telling the whole world what evil had befallen her. I gently untangled her flapping feathers from the net and lowered her onto the ground. . . inside the house where she would be safe. Soon her squawking ceased as she realized that she was home.
Do I have to be chased to get back in line with what my Father wants me to do? Or do I just walk where He wants me to walk, when He wants me to walk, and how He wants me to walk? Does he have to use the net on me or will I simply go when it’s time to go? Will I squawk and squawk in torrential complaints when I think He’s doing something I don’t like? Or will I just obey?
