Thank You, Lord, For Chickens

I am thankful for the gift of chickens.

It was about 4:30 when I stepped out to lock the chickens in for the night. It wasn't quite dusk and a few fowl remained outside as I rounded the barn corner. Upon seeing me, several birds hopped back out of the cage, hoping for a treat of bread or fruit, of which I had none. I dumped another helping of pellets into their pan and they obediently went inside. Eleven birds. Ten hens and a rooster. I count them every so often. I checked for eggs, found none, and headed back to the house. I'd been gone five minutes at the most.

We had just been whipping up a couple batches of frosting and getting out the goodies for building graham cracker houses. The fun was about to begin, but instead some kind of altercation had erupted in my absence and our holiday happenings suddenly over. I had missed the entire ordeal. I found myself numb, which is an all too often occurrence recently. There wasn't a chance to take sides even if I would have. I heard nothing, saw nothing, and knew nothing other than the fact that a few family members were missing and another several were leaving as well.

Like my husband and my children, I miss my father's presence most of all at family gatherings, and especially at Christmas. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, "His was a steady, peaceful, calming presence." We miss him being here, we miss his intervention and words of wisdom, and most of all we miss his prayers over us. Nothing will bring him back, but I am seriously considering hanging a large portrait of him in a conspicuous place in the living room. Maybe that would make him feel just a little bit closer.

And to top it off, we get to try this all over again in another week when Minnesota comes to visit.