A Morning Parable

I was caught in a socially awkward situation, again . . . and due to trying to do unto others as I'd have them do unto me, I found myself undone!  So, I ended up out late one evening, and that simply doesn't happen for me.  All my business off the homestead is done before dark, now that my daughter has remarried and relocated.  I no longer meet my her midway to get my grandchildren, so it's been over a year since I've been off the place after chores.

Due to the social requirement of the situation, I had to leave before the chickens were all in, so when I finally got home, it was dark and the backdoor of the chicken house inadvertently remained open for the night.  First and foremost, I must give thanks to my Heavenly Father who protected the chicken house from foxes, snakes, etc. that night.

The next morning gave inspiration for this parable.  The chicken house to which I'm referring is basically last on my morning chore list.  First, I'm greeted by the big goats, Hank, and Tiger the cat.  Then we all go to the big garden chicken house, where I feed and let them out for the day.  Stop at the brooder house and let the little chicks out in the sunshine in their little pen.  Next I move on toward giving Azalea access to her hay for the day.  Now, with all the activity going on, you can imagine my surprise when I came to the final chicken house and opened the door.  They were all right at the door waiting for it to open, as usual, and all flew out as urgently as they do every morning.  No orderly fashion to it at all.   What caught my attention, as I opened the door, was that I could clearly see the sunrise shimmering in the timber, through the east door.  That's when I realized it had been left open and got to thinking about my own spiritual life.

These chickens were hearing all the usual commotion of my chore rounds, all impatiently waiting at the large west door, when they could have been out the east door, at the first glint of light.

The chickens were fortunate, in that I wasn't trying to lead them into greater understanding, but our Heavenly Father may be doing just that with some of us.  How many times do we stand in one place steadfastly out of tradition, and not even realize the door is already open?  How many times do we miss an open door because it's narrower than we expect?  How many times do we stay with the flock because nobody else is going through that unusual door?

What if we're waiting by the usual door, and the breakthrough we've been praying for involves a different door?