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How a Dead Chicken's Story Can Bless Our Children

Updated: Oct 18, 2019

Photo by Jordan Opel on Unsplash

The other night was a wet one. I know because carnage got me out in it.

About 10 my husband asked me if the chickens had gotten put up for the night. They hadn't. He glanced out the window, and there was a raccoon carrying one away as he spoke.

He slammed on the window as I raced out. David Alan was already asleep. He woke up to his mama yelling, "A coon's eating a chicken! Get up!"

I wonder how that translated in his dream.

By the time I got out, Jacob was already stooped over the victim as his daddy's phone flashlight bounced toward the chicken pen. The poor bird's head was bloodied pretty good. She probably lived five minutes.

My husband was not happy. The boys, who are responsible for putting up the chickens, got two ears full from both their parents.

"They have to get put up every night!"

"This fence won't keep out a coon."

"They have to be locked up. This is your job."

"Poor chicken."

Then David Alan gave up the unsettling information that one night as he was putting them up, he saw a possum.

Oh, boy.

This morning, as I gazed at my sleeping babies, it reminded me how much like the defenseless chickens our children are.

Predators skulk around the walls of their lives, hoping to rip their hearts out. Leave their precious bodies lying shuddering and witless.

And somebody's got to shut the door. Keep them out.

Guess what, Mama? That's us.

And guess what else? Jesus is the door. We must get our children safe in His arms.

They need to hear about Jesus on a daily basis. A DAILY BASIS.

Maybe just dropped in everyday conversation, but still! They need to be hearing about Him, knowing He is life and wisdom and righteousness and power.

They need to be reminded after they get disciplined that Jesus became sin for us. Their sin isn't final. Jesus is Hope and Rest for the guilty.

And Jesus needs to be hearing about them. On a daily basis.

We have got to pray, y'all.

Where are the Mamas of days gone by, up in the wee hours, crying for her babies' futures?

I know that's why I'm so blessed. A praying Mama. (A praying Daddy too.)

I have big shoes to fill. Big 6 1/2 shoes.

Every time I pray, God answers so unmistakably I wonder why I haven't been praying.

So let's pray, girls. Let's cover our men with the soul-cleansing blood of the Lamb so they're protected from the temptation that flaunts itself, wave upon wave.

Let's pray for our babies. For their future spouses. For those children who don't have Mamas praying for them.

And when we look out the window and see that predator carrying off somebody's baby, let's not cluck our tongues and say we saw it coming. Let's slam on our knees and plead the blood to heal every wound.

There is power! Let's get to pleading!

"And I sought for a man among them, that should make up the hedge, and stand in the gap before me for the land, that I should not destroy it: but I found none."

John 10:9


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