Change

You may be one of those people who craves the new and unknown. You're seriously awesome.

But me, not so much. I like adventure... as long as I have some say in it. I've always wanted to go on a road trip without an itinerary. But the hidden truth is that I'd want to be the driver. {blush}

I'm not too different from a chicken.

A few weeks ago, we moved our Cornish-Rock chicks, now teenagers, from the brooder porch to a fenced pasture.

Farmer Boy got the big blue wheelbarrow, and one by one, lifted sixty chickens out of the brooder.

I am considering changing his nickname to The Chicken Whisperer. A few nights ago I heard some murmuring outside and looked out the window to see a small light in the layers' pen.  I listened closely and heard him muttering encouraging words, "Your numbers are really up, great job!" "Well, I'm going in now, sleep tight!"

So, naturally he talked the big fat white chicks through their drama.

"I know, but trust me, you're going to love it."

Squawk! Panic! Mad flap of wings!

"Really, we're heading toward chicken paradise!"

Cluck! Scramble! More panic!

"Just relax, we'll be there soon."

 

And they loved it. I don't remember a flock of Cornish-Rocks that has taken better and faster to the brooder-to-pasture transition. Within an hour, dust baths were being had all around.

An unusually hardy and healthy flock (this breed is known for its propensity for sudden death), when I opened the gate to feed them every morning they would run en masse toward me, making it quite dangerous (for themselves mostly) as I tried to walk forward. The sound of 120 fat and happy chicken feet pounding my way was surprisingly reminiscent of the thunder of horses' hooves!

Am I a chicken? Sometimes.

But I seem to have a Patti Whisperer. Try as I might to stay in my cage, I keep hearing...

"I know, but trust me, you're going to love it."

But Lord, it seems so scary!

"Really, we're heading toward paradise!"

But so many changes... how can I be sure that there is goodness ahead?

"Just relax, we'll be there soon."

"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."   ~ Jeremiah 29:11 ~

No paint for Him

I tend to be a perfectionist, and writing often takes me a very long time. I agonize over each word, reading and rereading to make it all just right. And then am still not happy with it.  

Last week Gypsy Mama challenged fellow bloggers to spend just five minutes writing and see what happened. SCARY. I didn't bite.

But yesterday, as I worked on the farm with plenty of time to ponder the frustrating consequences of my perfectionism, I decided I was going to make myself do it. Like it or not. Because it was good for me.

START

We are standing in the field, paintbrushes in hand, dripping white on the brown grass.  The brooder stands whitish grey, black in spots from the fire last winter.

Money and time prevent a brand new build, so we do what we can.  I have drilled and nailed and screwed the burnt away parts closed, and now 75 balls of yellow fluff await their new home.

We swish the wet brushes across the gray surface, shining white streaks cleaning wood.

It looks so pretty, I think.  How easy this, to make it look fresh and new, with just a little paint outside.

Yet inside is still black, still burned.

My heart drops.  How like this our world is.  How we try to wipe away the pain and the hurts and the bad by making the outs look pretty.  We whiten up the darkness within.

Yet waiting, there is eaten away wood, black, crumbling inside.

We didn't have time to make things right the way right should be... build from scratch start over make it new.

But my God, my Jesus, He is the carpenter.  That's his business.  No paint for Him.  No.

Tears down, builds up, starts fresh.  Good from the inside out.

He makes all things new.

STOP