garden – Page 13 – Home's Cool!

Scripture says knowing God’s will is a blessing. Sometimes doing it is hard.

At every step, the enemy of our souls is waiting for an opportunity to take out anyone he can and always watching for a chance to steal, kill, and destroy. We can be his victims. Or we can fight that good fight of faith. The choice is ours and this is the meaning of the verse: Choose ye this day whom ye will serve… We serve the Lord when we:

make progress, move forward,
see our invisible enemy and beat him to the blessing,
receive the goodness God had planned for us,
take our place at the front, in any role from king to pawn.

So many think we must be doing something big for God, but He created a world full of small things that also serve Him.

The humble bee, for instance, has recently encountered much more respect for its astonishing service to us all. Calmly buzzing from flower to flower for centuries, it feeds us. It goes where no man can go. We have learned: its demise is our demise.

The humble housewife, lately, has not enjoyed such an uplifting experience. Calmly buzzing from laundry to kitchen for centuries, she has kept us and her demise is our demise.

The humble mother has not enjoyed such uplifting, either. Calmly buzzing from diapers to diploma, she keeps us until we are adults. Her demise is the demise of our children.

No, the woman, as she is, has not enjoyed uplifting. Only when she pretends at being a man does even she, herself, acknowledge her value as a creature.

What if the woman were to beat off the one who would chase her into this disorder? What if she were to reach for the blessings of being herself? What if she were to take the lead as a woman, instead of grasping at being the man. She would serve the Lord.

It sure gives “charge” a new meaning.

When life is right-side up, the world works better, and our world is not working so well. We can learn this. We need to learn this. We can charge into this survival battle with confidence. Someone has to, if only for the children.

So, who has the equipment? Who has the temperament? Who has the muscles, strengths, right desires? Is it not woman, in numbers too big to ignore?

We buzz. We go where no man can go.

Last spring we had tried repeatedly to coax our new hennies to venture outdoors. They’d spent their short lives huddled under a warming lamp and were afraid of anything but their gloomy four walls. Staying cooped up weakens their health. They were late in maturing, they ought to have been laying by then. We were hungry for noodles.

I had their permission to lure them as far as the door, those days. In fact, they ate from my hand at the door, but refused to exit. They eyed the outdoors with that silly, sidewise, one-eyed glare you get from a chicken. Nope. Not going out there.

The outdoors abounded with tempting, green treats, some of which I picked for them, to expand their experience and make them curious. Nope.

Once we offered our leftover popcorn, hoping this sacrifice would impress them. A few blown kernels in line along the threshold indeed proved tempting. The small pile of them on the ground outdoors, though, went to the goldfinches, far smarter birds.

The hens in our last batch had been glad to fly out the door when I’d opened it. I had enjoyed the humor of their clucking and lining up in pecking order to be the first ones out. The old rooster, which I named “Woozie”, always stood sentinel and nipped at the slow ones, commandeering them out the door.

Now we have a new rooster, unaccustomed to adventures. This new Woozie stands furthest back, threatening the door person, crowing and posturing, loud and comical. Oh, the trouble this new Woozie spends, protecting this harem from the dangers of goldfinches!

That spring day, I’d planned a feast for them—trimmings from the previous night’s nachos and fruit salad. They are chickens. They should love, even fight over, tomato and apple cores, wilted grapes, and taco chip crumbles, in spite of never having tasted these treats before. I should have been able to open their exit, toss the scraps on the ground, and watch them swoop into it. Nope. They were totally timid. And I was totally frustrated.

And we can be so like them.

How we sometimes prefer the confines of a gloomy Christian box! Rather than jumping at the chance to breathe the giddy air of adventures for Jesus, we give most Godly endeavors that stubborn, cockeyed look. The royal treats just on the other side of the threshold should propel us, should be our delight, but we sternly refuse to budge. Often, what ought to be the fearless leader, instead, stands behind us and squawks about the dangers of leaping over the edge.

And the hand we say we trust—the hand of the One who feeds us all—shuts the door every evening on the same timid group, the same frustrating flock of loons. And the treats go to smarter birds.

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Katharine is a retired home educating mom who writes about all things “woman”, from a Godly viewpoint, here on this site, and at The Conquering Mom. Her writing appeared in several magazines for 15 years, and she is currently working on several books. She loves to write, speak, teach, cook, garden, spoil her hennies, and watch old movies with popcorn.

Tag: garden

Gramma’s Wisdom – Small Things

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