Monday, August 20, 2012

Running Chickens Resting Birds

Caption:  When you see chickens running, it's not hard to believe they're descended from dinosaurs...
 Oh dear Lord, have I ever been the chicken. Running around like my head is chopped off. Home. Porch Repair and cleaning. Booth stuff EVERYWHERE. Tagging and sorting...endlessly. Trips to East Nashville. New baby. Did I mention JOY?! Paying attention to Little One while watching the world unfold for Little Three. Seeking to love The Daughter well during this time of change in her life. Squeezing in time with precious Little Two. More JOY. Setting up my booth in the new antique mall. Painting. Hauling. Unpacking. Arranging. Rearranging. Legs tired. Back aching. More to do. Trying hard not to obsess. Whew.
The mornings have been cool. No humidity. I grab my coffee and head outdoors to sit in the quiet. My mind is already racing. And then.

The chickadees call me to prayer. And to rest. And to remembrance. They spend at least an hour each morning in my pear tree. Richly laden with ripening fruit, its woody sweet fragrance woos them from afar. Arriving in a darting and swooping chatter of squeaks and tiny trills, they seem to play some meet and greet dance that is theirs alone. I chuckle as I watch the flurry of their activity. At last count, there are nine of them. Just enough for a party. My, they do have a good time.

But wait. It is not long before the quiet descends in the chickadee's world. Occasionally I will see one twirl and dart or hang upside down as only chickadees do, but a pervasive and enveloping sense of peace soon covers the tree. The tiny birds have eaten their fill of the ripening pears. They are satiated and satisfied. So they rest.


I close my eyes in sleep each night, but the busyness of my dreams often rouses me one, two, three and sometimes four or five times every night. It seems that I am ever forgetful in that place of dreaming...the carseat in my car has vanished along with the prices on all of the items in my booth. I am running, running, running, but something or someone is always just beyond my reach. I open my eyes to more tired.

I get it, Lord.

Between the restless nights and the lesson of the chickadees in the pear tree, I see what you are showing me. The weariness of restlessness is the product of a cluttered, all-too-busy brain. Not enough soul silence. Not enough time just sitting in your Presence long enough to be satiated. So today I am stepping back. I am posting after a drought. I am meditating on one of my beloved Psalms, the Twenty-Third. You know the one.

"He leads me beside the still waters....He restoreth my soul."

This running chicken is choosing today to be a resting bird.


The running chicken photo is from; 
the little birdie is from

1 comment :

  1. "Soul silence"-that is a good word, friend. Thanks.


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