Of Chickens and Snakes

My daughter, Sera, came running into the house with tears streaming from her eyes and a look of horror distorting her face.  Between her heavy sobs and being out of breath from running it was hard to hear what she was trying to tell us at first.  "There's a snake in the chicken pen and it's eating one of the chickens!"  


As I tried to console her she kept repeating, "I thought we had done everything we could so they would be safe."  "I thought we had done everything."  "I thought they would be safe."


She was correct.  Sera and her dad had worked diligently in raising the chickens. Every precaution was taken and great care was given to each of the chicks and their living conditions.  The chickens had grown to a size thought big enough to allow them to be able to roam inside the chicken pen.  And yet, here she was crumpled in my arms having been traumatized by this intruder who so quickly violated the safety of her chickens.


How deeply my heart hurt for her.  I'm her mom.  I never want to see her in pain or know that she is suffering.  My job as her mother is to protect her.  My desire is to do everything I can to make sure she is safe and happy. I know I can't, but sometimes I wish I could protect all my children from the pains experienced in life.  But just like the snake who invaded the safe environment Sera created for her chickens, I know that trouble will invade the safe place that I work so diligently to create for those in my care.  My pastor shared wise and tender words, "...so instead of doing all we can to keep them from pain we should be doing all we can to show them how to run to Jesus in the midst of the pain."  


While I continued to hold Sera and tried to provide her with comfort, her dad responded quickly in ridding the chicken pen of the intruder snake.  Then he and Sera had a quiet burial for the chicken.  Wisely and very gently he took Sera back into the chicken pen...the place where just minutes before she had walked in on a very large snake devouring one of her beloved chickens.  Her dad quietly began to explain his plan to make the pen more secure.   As she stood there holding tightly to her daddy's hand I knew that she would be fine.  She knows her dad and trusts him to take care of her.  


As this image lingered in my mind I could not help but think about my heavenly Father and how He has gone to such lengths to ensure my safety.  He provides a place for me beyond the reach of the intruder snake.  And yet, trouble comes.  I experience pain and suffering.  And during these times I have learned to run to the One who loves me and provides me comfort and peace.  He also gently leads me through His Holy Word and shows me His plans to ensure my safety.  


After the supplies were purchased and the work was done to fortify the pen, Sera's dad surprised her with six new chicks to replace the one that was taken from her.  I would never have wished for my daughter to go through this  traumatic experience, but I recognize how blessed she is to have such a wise and loving father who walked with her through the shock and the pain, the loss and the fear, into a place of abundance.  


Shortly after this experience, Sera staged a photo of herself in the chicken pen holding one of her new chicks while studying Biology.  This picture was one of three she entered in a contest and was awarded a $300 scholarship.    So long, intruder snake ... we've got some chickens to raise.  

My Heart's Surprise

I don't especially like things such as surprise parties or surprise visitors. However, this doesn't mean that I'm opposed to all surprises. I find myself sweetly surprised quite often by the gentle goodness of my loving God. I love when my children make the effort to surprise me in some love-filled and thoughtful way. And sometimes I'm surprised by the things my heart feels. Sometimes I'm surprised by things that I remember that I didn't realize I had forgotten.

Not long ago, I was surprised by the re-appearance in my life of a very special friend after close to twenty-five years. I found myself caught in a time-warp and surprised by the amount of emotion that stirred within me. My mind was flooded with memories that had drifted to the deeper places of my remembrance. I have been somewhat surprised by how easily the cobwebs of time have been pushed aside allowing my heart to reconnect with my friend. While time and distance, as well as life in general, will probably prevent the friendship from deeper development, I have been blessed by the sweet memories that have surfaced that I didn't realize I had forgotten.  

Recently, I noticed that I am beginning to find some of myself that had been misplaced in the process of life.  And like the familiar warmth of remembrance I felt at the re-appearance of a special friend, I have found much pleasure with each discovery of all that makes up who I am.  In this middle season of my life I find that I am remembering things about my journey with Jesus that had become shrouded by the cobwebs of time; marvelous things, like the dreams and desires that have been built into who God created me to be.  Once misplaced and forgotten, these memories have re-appeared and flooded my soul with deep, satisfying joy.   And although this process of remembering is a natural and pleasurable part of the journey ...it has somewhat caught my heart by surprise.     

The High Price of Freedom

The date is Wednesday, April 28 2004.  This morning I am sitting in the chapel on Leighton Post in Wurtzburg, Germany. The reality of the war in Iraq is very evident here. We are in the midst of a unit who has known deployment and loss of life. The war has claimed over 20 lives from this unit in less than one month. The mood among the community has gone from determination, resolve, indestructible and undefeatable -- to doubt, despair, fear, defeat, confusion.

I am here to help a friend with music and we have just been a part of a morning chapel service. As our chapel ended a group of soldiers and chaplain’s assistants filed in to prepare for the memorial service of one of our fallen soldiers. I sit and observe how they are preparing the chapel. A two step black platform is placed at the front of the chapel. Then two soldiers carefully drape a white cloth around the platform. On the platform: a helmet and boots. Next they bring in a weapon and a plaquard with a picture, mounted under plexiglass, of a young man dressed in combat fatigues. He looks so young. It appears that the photo has been taken in Iraq. I am overwhelmed.


I ask a soldier standing nearby the rank of the young man. “Private first class.” I look at the helmet and see the name EDWARDS. I ask, “PFC Edwards?” and the soldier replies, “Yes,ma’am.” I want to immediately write his name and rank in my notebook. I need to document it so it is not lost. I have come all the way from Augusta, Georgia and have the awesome privilege of attending the memorial service of a young man who has sacrificed his life in a battle to protect, defend and ensure my freedom. I don’t ever want to forget his name.


I look around and see young men and women dressed in their desert camaflouge fatigues. They are so young. One young man in particular has such a haunting look. He seems so innocent and yet there is a heavy presence on his face. His eyes seem to long for something. Maybe hope – or maybe the assurance that this will all soon be over. I watch everything going on around me and wonder why God has allowed me to be here.


As I make my way to the back of the chapel I am unprepared for what I am about to encounter. One soldier is standing guard at the entry to the foyer. Two guards are standing on either side of the entry doors.  Outside on the lawn stand seven soldiers on one side and one soldier on the other side of a sidewalk. I walk outside via a side door and peek around to see the guard out front. I am assuming this is the guard who will be responsible for the 21 gun salute. It is only 11:00 a.m. and the memorial service is not until 1:00 p.m. Will all these soldiers stand guard until then? I am overcome with emotion and weep. I am not able to control my sense of indebtedness to our military, a sense of sorrow over the loss of lives, a sense of pride over being a U.S. citizen – a sense of awe that I am here – on an army base in Wurtzburg, Germany able to observe first hand a piece of the war in Iraq.


Thank you, Lord, for these brave individuals who are willing to serve their country and fight on my behalf. Protect their lives. Comfort and encourage them and their families.


12:45 p.m. The firing squad stands guard in front of the chapel in parade rest. They have now been joined by the bugler. The chapel is filling up. A video is playing on the screen at the front of the chapel. The images cause me to weep. I force myself to watch as the song “American Soldier” plays. The images . . .

Soldiers in battle . . . covered by the desert dust. . . tear stained faces . . .    guns standing in the sand with helmet resting on top . . . the makeshift memorial of a fallen soldier.

PFC Shaun Edwards was born April 6, 1984. He was killed in battle April 23, 2004. He had just turned 20. PFC Edwards was manning a machine gun when he was killed. He arrived in June 2003 to join the 121st Signal Battalion. In High School he wrestled and played football. He was apparently a genius with computers and electronics. His father, a Viet Nam veteran, his mother and sister all live in Illinois.


At the front of the chapel behind the platform bearing PFC Edwards’ helmet, boots and weapon is a table draped in a white cloth. Behind the table are three flags. On the left is the American flag. The German flag is in the middle. On the right is the unit flag with attachments (streamers) from all previous battles fought. The service
begins with the singing of our National Anthem. Following remarks from various commanders, my friend, Joanie, sings “It Is Well”.


The already emotional service takes a dramatic turn at the end with the Last Roll Call. The sergeant begins calling roll by last names. As the name is called a soldier stands and answers “here Sergeant.” As he calls PFC Edwards’ last name there is no answer. You can hear the sound of sobbing throughout the chapel . He calls again. Still no answer. I believe it is the third and final call when he uses his rank and full name. “Private First Class Shaun Edwards.” The silence is haunting. Everyone is asked to stand and the quiet is shattered by the “Firing of Volleys” from the firing squad who has stood for hours in the front lawn of the chapel. And finally, the bugler begins the playing of “Taps.”


The enormity of emotions I am experiencing is not merely a sense of patriotism. It is something much more personal. It is experiencing a realization that PFC Edwards died for me. I am experiencing a very personal awareness of the sacrifice that has been made, of the price that has been paid.


The sergeant who did the Last Roll Call today, while wiping his eyes, tells of how extremely difficult this was for him. The chaplain explained later that if there is family present sometimes they don’t do the Last Roll Call because it is just too painful for them.


A young man I saw earlier this morning who came and sat in the chapel while it was prepared for the memorial is apparently PFC Edwards’ supervisor. He said a few words during the service. After everyone cleared out of the chapel he has come back in and sits alone on the front row for quite a while. A very sad picture of a grieving friend and comrade. I believe his name is Dowdy. It is contained sorrow, but so very evident. Twice I've seen him all alone just sitting – I wonder what he is thinking. It seems clear to me that he is very affected by this death – or maybe it is this death and the 20 or so other soldiers from this unit who have lost their lives this month.

O Lord, have mercy on all of our service men and women.

Hunger and Thirst for Righteousness (from the archives)

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness for they will be filled. "No other standard is sufficient and no other pursuit is more worthy." Words from our pastor on Sunday as he preached from Matt. 5:6. This sermon series from Matthew 5 has been inspiring and convicting. Our pastor has pointed out that the beatitudes are in a progressive order. In order to hunger and thirst for righteousness we must first be meek - surrendered to God's control. To be meek we must mourn - the deep gut wrenching sorrow over our sin. And to mourn we must first be poor in spirit - able to recognize God as our source and pursuing him and his will rather than attempting to be successful in our own strength.

It is encouraging to know that as I place God first, acknowledge his holiness and my sinfulness and yield to his control that my daily appetite will be for MORE of him. And his word to me is that "I will be filled." I will be satisfied. I am reminded of David in Psalm 23 when he says "I shall not want." When he is all I desire - I will never be without. A few years ago I wrote a song based on Ex. 3:13-15 where God speaks to Moses and says, "I AM WHO I AM."

"You are the great I AM, the One who will be there.
You will be all I need, no matter when or where.
You will be there, and there is nowhere that I could ever go
And find that your gone, I'm never alone, for you will be there." O Lord, I hunger and thirst for righteousness. Not my righteousness (which is like filthy rags) but your righteousness. I desire your righteouseness for no other standard is sufficient and no other pursuit is more worthy. Nothing, Lord, compares with you.