What to Do When Your Heart Aches--Visit the Chicken Coop

Don't ask me why my heart is aching because I ain't gonna tell you.

There's too long a list anyway.  

And plus I'm a middle-aged woman who doesn't even need a reason and my heart aches anyway.

But when I don't quite have things altogether, I find a little quietness and peace

 out in the chicken coop in the late afternoon or evening. 

When I feel restless or sad, I go gather the eggs.

Some of them are in a pile in an empty nest, and others are under chickens, still very warm and fresh.

I know chickens have their pecking orders, sort of like humans, and one or two hens peck me good and hard if I dare to disturb them, also sort of like humans, but generally, there is a peaceful atmosphere in that little coop.

Back in the corner of the smaller chick pen there might be two or three eggs on the floor.

 And right now there are even four turkeys in the pen.

 

There is just something about chickens going to roost for the night.

They know where their home is, and where they are safe, and as long as they don't mess up the pecking order, they seem to live at peace and just live their lives as they were meant to be lived.

Here are some more young chickens going to roost for the night,

well out of reach of whatever coyote or other wild beast kept coming and stealing one after another recently.

Also, if I go out into the pasture, the pigs will come snorting and grunting up and butt into my legs because, as usual, just like pigs, they think I have food for them.

Not this time.

The first sunflower in the garden is peeking up at us.

And the carrots are lush.

Weeding our little gardens is another stress reliever.

The morning glories are lush as they climb the fence.

This garden is just beautiful under the hail screen.
I pick lettuce and pull weeds and check the size of the green beans and peek around to see how much the zucchini have grown. 

 And I come away with my heart feeling much better. 

Soothed by quietness.

Relieved by getting my hands in the weeds and shaking off dirt, 

shaking off the dirt of sadness and despair and disgust at the wickedness around.

And instead I begin to thank God for the beauty around me--

the morning glories Hannah planted in a hanging basket, and all the other flowers Jonathan and the children gave me for Mother's Day...

the laughter and good attitudes of my children,

the endearing and calming voice of my husband calling in during the day with a "Hello, dear!" or "Hello, Sweetheart! How are you doing?"

I can forget about the stuff going on in the world around us for a while as I hang laundry in the sunshine, waken in the morning to sparrows twittering, watch happy children doing their work or busy at play, 

iron clothes in a home cooled with a swamp cooler,

and turn on a spigot to find plenty of running water after years of sparse water.

So much to thank God for and be comforted by.

And may I never forget that these small things are just little pictures of His grace,

something so immense it cannot be contained or pictured, really.

Big, soft, comforting promises like a feather comforter to snuggle in.

Words from a heavenly Father to be touched by.

The knowledge that someday there will be no more heartache or tears or distress

or midlife crises or hurt feelings or strained relationships or financial burdens.

We will be forever with the Lord.