French Fry
Don’t I know God is okay with my tears?
Today was a sad day for us on our little farm.
In March, we took the leap and entered the world of backyard chickens. 8 sweet little chicks - Sunshine (now Sunny), Patty, Nugget, French Fry, Minecraft, Falcon, Twilight, and Moonshine (who I really wanted to call Kung Pao, but I was outnumbered). We have learned a lot about chickens these past 6 months and have gotten attached to this crew, even though chickens can be pretty gross. We talk about getting more animals, but honestly, we know we can’t handle anything more at this point!
We’ve almost lost 2 chickens (untrained and enthusiastic dog) and tried to prepare the kiddos for the day when we knew something would happen, because let’s be real, something is bound to happen. But when I found poor French Fry, I gasped in disbelief. It caught me so off guard. Poor little thing lying there lifeless. What do you do? I was home alone with the kids. What if they came out and saw? What would Justin do? Should I call a more seasoned backyard chickener person and ask them? Aaaaaaa!
So I did what any sane person would do. I grabbed a shovel, put her in the back of the golf cart still on the shovel, drove back to the woods while the kids were still blissfully unaware, found a place to dispose of the poor girl, and then pretended like nothing was wrong. Like you wouldn’t do the same?
But then came the time to tell the kids…
It is amazing how each kid handles sadness or grief so differently. Aubyn was told first. She is more reflective and introspective. She went out to view the scene of the crime and collect the feathers. She requested all the details and insisted on a funeral. She sat in the chicken area for a while by herself and her thoughts and I gave her her space and time to be sad.
Embry on the other hand. Oh my sweet empath. The tears just came streaming. I told her separately and in private before she went outside because I knew she’d immediately notice. She can be very observant at just the time I wish she wasn’t. And as she cried, it came to me to tell her to cry as long as she needed to, there was no rush to stop.
As I held Embry and let her cry, I wondered why I don’t take my grief and sorrow to God and let Him comfort me. Don’t I know God is okay with my tears? That He can handle them and understands that of course I hurt, grieve, suffer, and sometimes the only thing I can do is cry? And that sometimes it takes a bit to let it all out. I wouldn’t want any of my children to bear their sorrow alone, why would God want me to bear mine all on my own? And then I was reminded that through our tears, we can tell Him our pain or just take comfort in the fact that He already knows all of it. Even better, He’s not rushing us or brushing off our pain as insignificant. If it matter to us, I have to believe it matters to Him. So go ahead and cry and know that the Comforter is right there with you giving you your space and giving you time, but always there.
