Chick-en-a-Box

This week, our daughter, Lauren sent a photo via text message.  The caption read:  “Just found this.  No telling what’s inside.  We are now carrying a mason jar full of cash, which is in the car for the homeless men at the stoplights.”   I had to zoom in on the photo to read fully the message written on the side of a white 5-gallon bucket with a sealed lid, in purple marker.  Our now, seven-year-old granddaughter, Kiersten, had obviously written it with great care, “for the orphans”.   Kiersten has felt the need to give to orphans and the hungry ever since a baby chick entered her life on a beautiful Easter Sunday when I stepped out on a limb as a grandparent.   On a whim, I decided to give our two grandchildren baby chicks for a fun Easter surprise.

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Lauren and her husband, Neil along with our grandchildren, Kiersten and Gatlin lived in an urban subdivision where farm animals are not allowed.  Being found out by one of the rule-abiding neighbors would surely mean a ticket from animal control and probably an appearance in the city court before the judge.  However, worse than my fear of those particular consequences, was the fear of my son-in-law who was raised in the same type neighborhood environment and did not fully understand or appreciate the connection that our family has with farm animals.  He was surely going to be less than tolerant of my decision to present two live chicks to his children without his consent.

As severe as the possible outcome could be, I made the decision to go forward without the prior knowledge of Neil or Lauren.  I decided I would simply ask for forgiveness after the camera caught both of my precious grandchildren’s smiles of delight when they opened the Chinese take-out boxes containing colored plastic grass and peeping, yellow, fuzzy balls of wonder.  There is nothing more joyful to me than watching their faces light up over something that I do for them.  Kiersten was 5 at the time and Gatlin was 2.  This could be the perfect plan or the perfect storm and only after giving them their gifts would the plan or storm be revealed.

I handed the children each, a small box and made sure that the talented photographer, Pappy was ready to capture the moment – a joyous occasion, or “Murder on Tenth Street”.  As Kiersten and Gatlin opened the white folded boxes, little did any of us know what would be in store in the future.  After all, I was only giving them chicks to bring myself pleasure at the sight of their excitement but God had a plan to use this moment in a way that none of us could have ever imagined.

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Neil embraced the Easter chicks with skepticism but jumped right in to support his children by building a chicken coop decked out with laying boxes, warmer lights and heavy duty lumber for protection from neighborhood dogs and cats.  The chicks grew, as did my chicks, Kiersten and Gat.  With all of the growth taking place, Lauren and Neil decided to move to a larger house with acreage where the chicken operation continued to expand from two chicks to ten fat, fluffy laying hens.

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The job of feeding, watering, and gathering eggs is the responsibility of Kiersten and Gat.  They take their chicken care very seriously.  Kiersten believes that her chickens are “the happiest chickens in the world” and that her chicken’s eggs are “better than medicine”.  The hens produce four to five eggs per day.  The egg production has developed into many cash paying customers who enjoy the range-free, golden yolked eggs that are hand delivered to their door with love.  Having exposure to orphan care and the homeless due to their Pappy’s work with orphans in Bogota, Colombia, and their parent’s instruction of scripture, Kiersten’s and Gatlin’s hearts grow daily with the love of Christ and His love for orphaned children and others in need.  As they receive payment for their deliveries, Kiersten and Gatlin give all but the amount that it takes to buy replacement chicken feed to orphan care and feeding the homeless.

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Next week, fifty orphans will receive school supplies in Bogota.  The orphans will be unaware that God used two baby chicks and two small children in Magnolia, Texas who were willing to cast their bread on water by selling eggs door to door to bless them with much needed educational tools.  While the 5-gallon bucket remains sealed, I am certain that the inside contains gifts to orphans from children in America who began to listen to the voice of God when they set their eyes on baby chicks in Chinese take-out boxes on Easter Sunday two years ago.

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Feeding Marva

Excuse me, mam!  Excuse me!  I slowly raised my head out of the cardboard box that I was digging through in my garage hoping that I was only imagining the voice I heard calling.  My whole day was planned.   My schedule was packed and there was no margin for any type of interruption.   I reluctantly turned around to face the street.  Standing at the end of the driveway about 25 yards away was a tall, middle-aged woman holding the handle bars to her bicycle along with two shopping bags.  She was looking directly at me as she continued to motion with her hand wanting me to come closer.

We moved about two months ago from my once small hometown, Katy, Texas to inner city Houston known as The Heights.  Our new neighborhood is located one mile north of Interstate 10, one mile east of the 610 loop, and one mile west of Interstate 45.   In Katy, Bill and I lived in the heart of the city and thought that we lived among diverse people.  However, moving to The Heights has taken my definition of diversity to a whole new level.  The first week in our new home, reality hit as one night, I heard the strange clinking of something rolling down the street.  I ran to the window and passing by our house, illuminated only by the streetlights was a man pushing a grocery cart with what appeared to be his personal belongings.  I have since observed that our street is his regular route from point A to point B and back to point A at night.   He never slows but keeps a steady pace, putting one large foot in front of the other as though he is on mission.  I have also learned that the neighbors refer to him only as  “The Commuter”.   The neighbors are content to leave him be every evening during his commute.   I, on the other hand, wish to learn his real name and his story…

“Mam, my name is Marva.”  The clean, neatly dressed woman continued.  “I have three young children. “ “We haven’t had any gas to heat our house since before Christmas.”  “Rats are biting my children at night and our house is infested with roaches.”  “Will you please help me?”  Marva took and deep breath, hung her head, looking to the ground and said,  “Mam, could you please spare something to eat?”  “I’ll eat anything. “ “Please, Mam, I’m so hungry.”  My mind could not grasp all that she was trying to tell me in her desperation.  I tried to sort out what I was hearing with compassion, thinking of this poor woman begging to feed her children and keep them warm while at the same time, I was fighting the urge to run into my house, lock the door, draw the curtains, and pull the covers over my head!

Matthew 25:35 reads:  For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in.  I knew in my heart the right thing for me to do at that moment was to invite Marva to park her bicycle on the sidewalk and help her carry her bags up the steps onto the front porch of my house.  I pulled a chair around and asked her to sit down.  Once again, she reminded me that she was hungry so I excused myself and went inside in search of something substantial.  After a few minutes of going in and out of the house visiting with her and cooking, I emerged with a bacon and egg sandwich and a bottle of cold water.  She was delighted!  As she ate, I probed her about her faith in God to which she admitted that where she comes from, in order to survive, she has to have faith in God.  Gnawing on a piece of bacon with her yellowed broken teeth, she gave a half grin and assured me that God does provide.

Marva and I enjoyed our time together as we closed the gap this day on the hungry and the well fed.  Together we held our heads high in diversity as we sat, soaking up the sunshine, both counting our blessings for God’s interruption of schedule and provision of food.

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