Nursing Grace to Life
She was half-dead when we found her.
In the corner of the neighbor’s yard, a full 12 hours after the incident, the kids and Jeff found her mangled, nearly-lifeless body. He texted me right away;
We found Grace. I don’t think she’s going to make it.
Yes, we are talking about a chicken. I get it. Farm animals get eaten by raccoons all the time. But these girls are our pets. Dutch and Heidi love these chickens. We got them as newly hatched chicks, nursed them along in our kitchen, then the kids cared for them these six months. From the very beginning, they could tell them apart. I have no idea how, but from day one, their favorite chick, the very first one they named … was Grace.
Dutch named her. Grace was the chick Heidi would always reach for, to cuddle and take outside into the sun. Grace was the one she’d carry under her arm, a little feathered doll. Grace was the one who had worn the beaded bracelet … as a necklace.
And now the kids hovered over her bloody, mangled body, praying she’d survive. Jeff suggested what made most sense–we must put her out of her misery. The kids were horrified. Never! They would pray! Didn’t we always pray for sickness, for injury of every kind? Didn’t we labor in prayer over those we loved and call on God’s mercy to heal?
Yes, but. Jeff looked at Grace’s broken beak hanging sideways, her smashed bloodied face, and slow, labored breaths. There’s just no way, he thought. Besides, she’s a chicken.
They put her in the shade. Put water beside her, but she couldn’t move and with a broken beak there was no way she could drink. Jeff told the kids it was only a matter of time.
Dutch was resolute. “I’m fasting tonight and praying she lives.”
My eyes widened a bit. An 8-year-old fasting for a chicken? Should I explain that there’s no real biblical basis for fasting for the life of an animal? Well, of course I wouldn’t do that. I saw his heart of faith and held him in my arms, asking God to sort through the sincere prayers of my precious boy and answer in His wisest way.
The next morning, early, Jeff came in from his run. I looked up, one question in my eyes.
“She’s still alive,” he said quietly. She still couldn’t move, couldn’t eat or drink. Her beak still broken off to the side. But hope swelled up in those kids’ hearts. They kept praying.
That afternoon Grace stood on her feet. “Mommy! Let’s get an eyedropper and drop water into her mouth!” But she was tucked away too far underneath the coop, so I filled a squirt bottle with water, crouched down near the ground, and squirted water toward her mouth.
At first she jerked away. Understandably. If someone was hosing me in the face I would turn away. But after a few minutes, she slowly moved her jaw up and down, ever so slightly.
Then she turned toward the water.
Several refills later, she made slow steps. Back and forth, with labored breaths, she walked back and forth beneath the coop. With every squirt she slowly worked her jaws up and down. She still couldn’t open her mouth, but I knew water was getting in there somehow.
Later that afternoon, many water-squirts later, something loosened. Dried blood dissolved. Her mouth opened. The kids cheered. “I knew she’d live!”
It’s just a chicken, you say. But this mundane moment made me vividly see the significance of what we do in life. The truth is, tons of people die of drugs. Overdose. Die on the streets, alone, victims of that roaring lion that prowls around, seeking who he can destroy.
A raccoon is to the chickens what the enemy is to us: A predator.
One who comes to steal, kill, and destroy.
And yes, we heighten fences, but casualties still happen, and I have seen mangled hearts and lives, victims of that roaring lion.
How do we help?
Fast and pray, perhaps squirt water on faces, even when they bristle, back-off, and turn away. One mangled heart at a time:
We nurse Grace to life.
{Thank you for reading.}
Run for their lives
They’d never heard the a-word, these sweet innocent babes of mine. They know about babies of course, know where they come from and, in basic terms, how they get there. They’ve seen many a growing belly around our church family. They’ve seen ultrasounds of themselves, making sense of the squiggly outlines with delighted recognition, “That’s ME!”
But they didn’t know about lives cut so short, on purpose. We pray for healing a lot around here, hoping to help them know, from a young age, the precious value of every human life. They don’t know about Planned Parenthood and all the FB posts and videos released and riots and protests and violence and regret and grief.
I’m so glad they don’t. But I do want them to know enough. I remember some of my earliest memories, as a teeny thing toddling along behind my Mama into our local Crisis Pregnancy Center where she volunteered regularly, week after week, meeting with expectant moms, pregnancy counseling, helping gather baby items, and providing support for scared expectant moms looking for help.
I still remember long afternoons in the waiting room, working on my homeschool lessons and looking at the glossy-brochures with the perfectly formed unborn child on the front. I remember the little gold pins, of tiny baby feet, that my mom wore on every lapel. I remember feeling so proud that my own Mama helped save little lives.
So I wanted them to know, too. And when the 4 Their Lives run came up, as part of The Guardian Project, and dear Sherri messaged and said, “Would you consider…?” I knew this was the perfect time to teach a tiny bit about this sad business, this peek into our brokenness, and give them a chance to help as well.
The timing was perfect. The kids had just finished their first fundraising race a few weeks ago, running a 1-miler to provide shoes for kids in need in Clackamas County. They were nervous (that’s putting it lightly) and hesitant, but both ran strong and finished well, so I was excited to build on the positive experience soon. (There’s Heidi crossing the finish line; I think she’s checking her heartrate–ha!)
This race is near Portland, with lengths for all ages and abilities, perfect for this fam that ranges from my crazy-fast-hardcore husband to my lightweight littles, to moi, who cheers from the sidelines, enjoying the coffee and donuts, loving the event vibe and happily contributing money just so I don’t have to run. *smile*
So we curled up Wednesday morning with the kids and shared the news. We told them about a bit about abortion, about scared mommies who sometimes feel trapped and don’t know what to do, about ultrasounds being a powerful way for mommies to see their tiny precious babies, about how much that helps them want to keep those hearts beating, even if they need to allow another mommy to raise their little baby. We told them how The Guardian Project is taking ultrasounds around in a motorhome, to help women see their unborn babies, to help more hearts keep beating, to help more babies to be born.
They were all in.
Would you join us?
Will you run for their lives? It’s such a simple way to contribute, and perhaps teach your children, in gentle ways, about how they can contribute to life. All the information for the run is HERE, along with information on The Guardian Project HERE. Even if you don’t live in the Pacific NW, perhaps you know someone who does? Consider forwarding this to them? Thanks so much for considering the myriad of little, mundane ways we can choose life every single day. Have a blessed labor day weekend. I pray it’s full of life.
{Thanks for reading.}
Love Heightens Fences
That Wednesday when she came home, I wondered what on earth we were supposed to do. She’d wandered. Far. There were consequences. There had to be. But how do you convey this to a wayward heart? You’re not in trouble, you’re in danger.
It just so happened it was the day to heighten fences. Those chickens, there was just no way to keep them in. We’d fixed the gate, mended holes, reinforced the fence. Clearly, even though their wings were clipped, they’d learned to fly right over those loving fences.
We’d find them out in the street, wandering into the neighbor’s yard, slipping into crevices, impossible to find. Something had to change. Sure, part of the problem was that I was irritated to no end. I was sick of chasing chickens and cleaning up poop off the porch. But, more than that, they needed to stay in the coop for their own good. It wasn’t that I hated the chickens. Wasn’t that I wanted them to be confined, miserable, limited, restricted. They had plenty of space inside their fence, to roam and forage. There was shade, food, water. Everything they needed was there, inside. But they wouldn’t stay put.
Outside, there were dogs. Raccoons. Predators. When they flew over that fence, it wasn’t just that they were in trouble, they were in danger.
So the day came, and it just happened to be that Wednesday.
A day to heighten fences.
There was expense for us, of course. We purchased the chicken wire, set aside the whole morning for attaching, reinforcing, securing. The girls, those little feathered friends, squawked around, somehow sensing their new limitations.
We’re doing this for your own good, girls! You’re not in trouble, you’re in danger. I wished I could convey this to them.
But then, they’re chickens.
Somehow, though, it’s even hard to convey this to humans. If Jesus can liken us to sheep then let me, for a moment, make the simple observation that we’re a lot like chickens sometimes.
Oh how we squawk over our freedoms! Oh how we pitch a fit when we cannot do what we want! Oh how we balk at anything that limits our independence!
Heightened fences? For ME?! How dare you!
We don’t get it.
We’re not in trouble, we’re in danger.
We don’t get the reality, that the enemy prowls around like a roaring lion seeking who he can devour (1 Pet. 5:8). We’re oblivious to the danger. We think God’s Word, His authorities in our lives, we think those heightened fences are keeping us from freedom. Nothing could be further from the truth.
They are keeping us safe.
It isn’t loving to let someone wander out into the world, no matter how much they may want to.
No matter how much he or she may squawk … love heightens fences.
My brethren, if any among you strays from the truth and one turns him back, let him know that he who turns a sinner from the error of his way will save his soul from death and will cover a multitude of sins.
James 5:19-20
{Thanks for reading.}
How $58 buys hope
It was only day one of August rest.
Actually, scratch that, day minus 1, it was only July 31st. But I had been chewing all week on Ex 23:11 and what it means to “let the ground lie fallow.” That morning, when both kids wanted longer snuggles, I ignored my to-dos and held them longer. Later, instead of my usual 5-minute rushed get-ready routine, I went a little slower, enjoying a long bath, braiding my hair, wearing earrings. These things seem ridiculously minuscule, but it’s amazing how a little care turns mundane routine into sacred ritual. After lunch, I had to run an errand for Jeff, so I turned it into a treat for the kids, grateful there was no pressing plan for the afternoon.
Jeff’s errand just happened to be next to a local consignment shop where I’d taken clothes to sell once and never returned to gather my proceeds. The shop caught my eye, mostly because I’d tried so hard to get there recently, with no success.
I looked around the car, realizing the bag of clothes I’d chosen to consign was in the other car. *sigh* It almost seemed strange, how often I’d tried to take them there, but was always detoured. Finally, the day before, I’d sneaked away while Jeff was home for lunch, just to drive the clothes down to the store. Even though it was during business hours, they were closed. Odd. Strangely, something inside urged me not to sell them. The last bit of Ex. 23:11 came to mind, how during the Sabbath year the resting land was to be left “that the poor may eat.” Instead of selling my clothes and getting money, I could just give them away instead, to someone in need. I made a mental plan to take the bag to a certain out-of-town friend.
But here I was, the next day, parked right at the store on an errand for my man. I figured I’d zip in and see if I had a balance from what I’d sold before. As I walked in, I realized the racks were almost empty, with signs “$1” or “75% off” on various shelves.
“We’re closing today, so we’re not taking any more consignments,” I overheard the gal at the counter say sadly to another customer.
Oh. That explains why they weren’t open the other day, and that explains why I had that strange nudge to not bring my clothes in. They were closing today? How sad, I thought, then quickly realized this was a great day to come in, everything was almost free! I looked around briefly but nothing caught my eye except a $1 sweater for my mom. I took the sweater to the counter, and gave her my name.
“I’m so sorry about the store closing.”
I looked at her, she was about my age, and very, very pregnant.
She smiled sadly, “Thanks. Me too.”
She looked at my information on the screen, opened the register, and handed me the $58 I had left on my account. Wow! That was unexpected! No wonder God had me come in this day, this was a profitable trip! I thanked her so much, and the kids and I walked across the street to our car.
We began home, but something hooked my heart. Something wasn’t right. It’d been a long hot afternoon and the kids were eager to get home, but that bit from Exodus came back again:
“The seventh year you shall let it rest and lie fallow, that the poor of your people may eat…”
It rang so clear in my heart: This is not a time to get ahead.
I felt sad for that girl. Clearly she had had a dream, had given it her all, and today her dream died.
Something urged: Go give her the money back.
I resisted: The kids are hot and tired! They’ll pitch a fit if I turn around and go BACK.
Then it came, that uncomfortable, shifting-in-my-seat feeling when I’m resisting the Holy Spirit. (You know the feeling, right?!)
I argued inwardly: I should talk to Jeff about it. I mean, this is our money, I should ask him what I should do with it.
More unease.
I am sure we make way less money than they do, even with their store closing. They’re probably wealthy; this was just a fun side-gig.
More unease. I thought of my wallet at this exact moment, how I’d tucked that cash she’d handed me in beside plenty of other cash.
I just want to get home. I could probably take her the money later.
More unease. I thought of this, her very last day open, of the sadness in her eyes, of the truth:
There’s no better time to obey than now.
I turned around.
“Where are we going?!” Both kids pipe up. “I thought we were done?”
“I just want do something real quick.” I was about to tell them to just trust me and not ask questions, but I paused. Actually … “You guys remember how that store we just went to was closing.”
They nodded and Dutch (usually lacking empathy) chimed in, “Yeah, it made me sad that they had to close.”
“Me too. So you know how they gave me the money I earned from selling my clothes?”
Dutch: “They did?! Oh you shouldn’t have taken the money, Mommy!” (Ha! Apparently His Spirit is more sensitive than mine!)
“That’s what I think too, Dutch. I think God is telling me to go back and give her the money back.”
“Oh mommy, I think God’s saying that too. Let’s go back right now and do it. Can I go in with you? I want to help her feel better too.”
Tears welled up, blurring each block as we made our way back to the store. Such a simple thing, responding to the Spirit, but so many things keep me stubborn. Here I thought this would inconvenience my kids, but it was a blessing to them. Every ordinary day there are discipleship opportunities as we travel the mundane with our littles.
We pulled up right in front of the store, both kids quickly unclicked their seat-belts, they were so excited. To my delight, the store was empty except the girl at the front, so I knew it wouldn’t embarrass her.
“Hi, I was just here and you were so generous to pay me my balance, but …” My voice caught with emotion, surprising me, “I don’t want it. I’m just really sorry you guys are closing, and I’d like you to keep my balance.”
Her face changed.
It lit.
“Are you sure?” She looked into my eyes. Just a quiet exchange of hope, solidarity.
“Yes. I pray you guys are blessed.”
She smiled wide.
“Thank you so much.”
And with that, we left, beaming, hearts light In the car Dutch announced, “Maybe that $58 was exactly the amount they needed!”
I smiled at his sweet childlike faith. “At least we know that $58 bought hope. For us all.”
{Happy Monday. It’s so good to be back here with you. Thanks for reading.}