Toward the end of my Jr. High tenure, I had acquired a few trustworthy friends. Nevertheless, due to my inability to progress, I continued to ruminate on the torture and ridicule I endured my seventh grade year. I pledged to never again frolic along the water’s edge of the pond scum that is the teenage pecking order. No longer would I accept my lot as mere plankton. I vowed to do whatever it took to climb the social ladder—whatever it took. This vow blinded me to the blessings God had already provided. I would never be content until they noticed me…until the ones who once wounded me accepted me as an equal—as their friend. This vow instilled within me a viciousness and cruelty that, upon reflection, causes me to cringe in fear of my potential to be inherently evil. I stabbed good friends in the back to move up a rung. I slandered my brother, who had always—up to that point—stood beside me as my best friend and confidant. My discontent for who I was, and with whom I associated, darkened my soul. The enemy fed off my discontent, and I willingly submitted to his assault.

Fifteen years later, I sat in my living room and wallowed in my discontent. I vowed to do whatever it took to climb the corporate and social ladders. No longer would I accept my lot in life. This vow blinded me to God’s providence. I longed for more—more money, more possessions, and more prestige. I had a loving wife, two healthy, adorable children, a fulfilling and thriving career, and a church home full of amazing and supportive brothers and sisters. For some reason, what I had wasn’t enough.

Upon standing up, pulling up our pants, fastening our belts around our waist through biblical preparation and personal integrity, confessing our faith in Jesus and embracing the righteousness of God, we fit our feet with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. Our footwear is the next piece of God’s armor. By standing firm on stable footwear, that is, the gospel of peace, we prepare to stand firm against the enemy. The Roman soldier’s shoe, in fact—any soldier’s footwear—is essential in battle. The Roman soldier’s shoes were made from thick leather and were studded through the soles with hobnails, which provided stability and traction during battle. Peace—with others and within ourselves—is vital when standing against the enemy. Conflict with others distracts us from our purpose, which is sharing the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Conflict within ourselves—anxiety, discontent, fear, and doubting God’s providence—opens our hearts to the enemy’s destructive weapons. When we fit our feet with discontent, we are no longer ready for the immediate battle that lies before us. Instead, we are focused on tomorrow’s battle that may or may not even occur.  According to one of the most brilliant sages of our time:

“Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That is why it is called the ‘present.’”

—Oogway in Kung Fu Panda

Anxiety is an enormous deterrent in battle. In episode 6 of HBO’s The Pacific, the Marines are fighting for the occupation of the Japanese-held island of Peleliu in the Palaus. Toward the end of the episode, one of the Marines has a nervous breakdown. His worry, fear, and anxiety overpowers him. He begins to scream alerting the enemy to their location. All attempts to calm him down fail, until finally, another Marine hits him over the head killing him instantly.

Worry, anxiety about tomorrow, and discontent exemplify our lack of trust in God and His provision. Discontent is slapping God in the face, because through our discontent, we ignore the blessings He’s already provided.

God provided manna for the people of Israel as they wandered through the wilderness. They were strictly instructed to gather only one-day’s worth of manna, not because God didn’t have enough to provide them with more, but because God wanted to teach the Israelites to know Him, to trust in Him, and to depend on Him. There will never be a day when we don’t need God, but there will also never be a day when God will fail to provide for our needs. In His Sermon on the Mount, Jesus said:

“No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and money.  Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life? And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”

—Matthew 6:24-34

Contentment prepares us against the enemy because it illustrates our full reliance on God. Contentment is trusting that God knows what’s best for us and trusting that our brothers and sisters have our best interests at heart…because God is working through them to carry out His pure and perfect will as it pertains to our lives.

Here I am, five years after my episode of discontent in my living room—no money, no wife, no church family, no job, and finally…no discontent. As I look at my life now compared to my life then, I’ve finally come to the comprehension that less is truly more…and with this contentment comes joy, recognition of the blessings that lie before me, and full reliance upon God to meet my daily needs. By dying to my worry, anxiety, inner and outer conflict, and heartless ambition, I’ve risen to embrace my reliance upon God’s daily providence. Not to say that I’m always outside the tomb—that I’m consistently reliant upon God to meet my needs or confidently trust that He will. I still occasionally roll back the stone and dwell within the tomb of doubt, discontent, and anxiety. However, God has revealed the peace and stability that accompanies my relying on him to meet my needs on a daily basis, and if I fit my feet with that…I can withstand anything the devil throws my way.

I’m still writing on the Armor of God. Last week’s title, “Caught With Your Pants Down” might have thrown you for a loop, but it was about the Belt of Truth. Today’s post is about the Breastplate of Righteousness—I’m just trying to be clever with my titling. I realize that occasionally my titles miss the mark completely…just bear with me, I’m a work-in-progress. Aren’t we all?

A few months ago, my friend informed me that Reformed theologians, of which I am one, think they’re right about everything. My response was, “We don’t think we’re right about everything, we just think everyone else is wrong.” Don’t we all have the tendency to think we’re right and they’re wrong? It is the slippery slope of self-righteousness. I’m right, therefore you’re wrong.

Arguments with your spouse, kids, roommates, or friends typically occur under this basis:

“If only he would load the dish washer correctly—plates in the back, bowls around the side, spoons and forks pointing up and segregated from each other so you can unload it quicker.” See, I can learn…I’m very trainable!

“I do a lot for this family, and she doesn’t even appreciate me or recognize my contributions…she takes me for granted and won’t even admit when she’s wrong.” “He doesn’t listen to me or notice me. He’s so wrapped up in himself that he won’t even acknowledge my validity.”

“Why can’t he understand that the toilet paper must come from underneath—it’s the right way…why can’t she understand that the toilet paper must come over the top—it’s the right way.”

Self-righteousness rears it’s ugly head in so many formats, one can hardly describe them all. I’m guilty of so many of them. They typically occur through condemning others based on your own rightness:

• How can you eat that?
• By believing that, you’re putting God in a box!
• You use your and you’re incorrectly…and irregardless isn’t a word!
• You can’t do Santa Claus on Christmas!
• How can you let your children watch that program?

Self-righteousness instills in all of us, a Pharisaic worldview.

“If I’m right, I’m important. In fact, I’m so important I have no need for Christ.”

Without Christ, we end up putting on our own breastplate of self-righteousness—and that breastplate is about as useful as a stormtrooper’s armor. Check out this hilarious clip from Family Guy…trust me it’s not inappropriate. After viewing the clip, just hit the back arrow on your browser to return to my blog.

The breastplate of self-righteousness is useless. Self-righteousness weighs us down, gets in the way, and is a deterrent in battle. Like the stormtroopers, we may as well not even wear it.

The breastplate, however, was one of the most important pieces in the Roman soldier’s armor—it protected his vital organs. Without a breastplate, the soldier was an easy target. God recognized how important a quality breastplate was to our survival and protection against the enemy. Knowing also, how worthless our own attempts at righteousness were, God sent Jesus through whom our true righteousness could be obtained. Through faith in Jesus, through humbling ourselves and recognizing the futility in seeking rightness on our own, God offers us a breastplate of righteousness that can easily deflect the arrows of our enemy.

“Yes, everything else is worthless when compared with the infinite value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have discarded everything else, counting it all as garbage, so that I could gain Christ and become one with him. I no longer count on my own righteousness through obeying the law; rather, I become righteous through faith in Christ.For God’s way of making us right with himself depends on faith.”

—Philippians 3:8-9

Through faith in Jesus, God offers us a breastplate, less like that of the stormtroopers and more like the mithril shirt of Frodo Baggins…where the spear of a cave troll cannot penetrate its protection.

As the enemy’s legions stand on guard waiting for the opportune time to strike, they find my self-righteousness irresistible. Self-righteousness isn’t just a kink in one’s armor, it’s a wide open gap. Like the stormtrooper’s armor, our self-righteousness is useless against the weapons of our enemy. When I’m most vulnerable, I can trust that my faith in Jesus will protect me. By humbling myself, considering my own ambition to be right as useless garbage in comparison to the Gospel, and placing my hope at the foot of the cross, God promises me the protection of His own righteousness. God makes me right through faith…and that—and only that—protects my heart and soul from the devil.

“Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all.  Thousands of little kids, and nobody’s around – nobody big, I mean—except me.  And I’m standing on the edge of some crazy cliff.  What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff – I mean if they’re running and they don’t look where they’re going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them.  That’s all I do all day.  I’d just be the catcher in the rye and all.  I know it’s crazy, but that’s the only thing I’d really like to be.”  —Holden Caulfield (J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye, Ch. 22)

Two weeks ago, while hiking along the South Fork Creek, we came across a pack of coyotes on the hunt. Several coyotes fled upon our arrival, but one of them relentlessly held the head of his prey—a mule deer fawn—under the water attempting to snuff out its life. Our natural inclination was to move toward the coyote and save the deer…which we did. Upon taking a few steps closer, the coyote released the deer and rushed to the other side the creek and ran along the ridge until she was out of view. The fawn emerged from the water, gasped for a breath of life-giving oxygen, and dashed away.  Regardless of the fact that I interrupted the “circle of life,” I was extremely pleased with myself, and so were my friends. We saved an innocent deer from destruction. We fulfilled our duty as the “protectors” and “redeemers” of the planet.

I used to believe that saving people was one of the primary commissions of those who follow Christ. Whether that be supporting someone who’s abusing drugs, guiding someone out of self-inflicted pain, or finding a solution to someone’s problems…even if that person isn’t asking for a solution. In Salinger’s The Cather in the Rye, Holden Caulfield was overwhelmingly concerned about the ducks in the pond and where they went in the winter…he wanted to rescue the ducks before the ice consumed the pond. Holden also wanted to keep innocent children innocent. He wanted to catch them while they played in the rye…before they fell off the cliff and into the abyss of adulthood. Like Holden Caulfield, I wanted to be the savior of the world. I wanted to rescue the innocent deer, the unsuspecting ducks, and the naïve children. My ambition was to save the lost…even if they didn’t want to be saved. I wanted to “cure” people even if they weren’t ready to be “cured.” I believed that “saving” was my calling as a Christian. My self-righteousness was wrapped up in my own “savior complex.” I was obsessed with solving others’ problems instead of focusing on solving my own. I wanted to be like Jesus—a savior.

The true Savior of the world didn’t have a savior complex. Jesus stated the facts, put all the cards on the table, and asked us to choose. If we chose to ignore Him, He lets us walk away. He doesn’t chase us down or catch us before we drop off the cliff. In fact, he stands by and watches us fall…if that’s what we choose to do. Jesus respects our decisions…even if those are the dumbest decisions on the planet.

If we chose salvation, the road ahead is a difficult one. Jesus is the personification of “tough love.” Jesus doesn’t promise an easy road to recovery and redemption. Jesus doesn’t promise an immediate solution to all our problems. He is our Savior, because his presence on this earth, his sacrifice on the cross, and his defeat over death all demonstrate the love of God and His passion to get his family back. Jesus represents the extent to which God goes to search for his family, the lengths to which God respects our freedom to choose—even at the expense of his only Son. “Love” is the essence of “Savior.” Salvation cannot occur without love.

A savior complex exists because we ourselves possess an unhealthy need to solve someone else’s problems primarily because we don’t want to face our own. True salvation flows out of love. It’s perfectly acceptable to desire another’s salvation. To wish that your brother or sister be free to breathe again…be free from the grasp of a hungry coyote. Problems arise when we conclude that we can save them on our own. We are commissioned as witnesses to love others and testify about God’s love evident in Christ’s power to save us. Witnesses share how Jesus has transformed their life and then allow the judge to decide for him or herself whether that testimony is valid. If the judge chooses otherwise, we have to step back and allow that judge to wander through the fields of rye and pray he or she doesn’t fall off the cliff.

As much as it pains me to watch the innocent wander aimlessly…as much as I desire—as Holden Caulfield does—to stand on the edge of the cliff waiting to catch my brothers and sisters, I have to accept the fact that I can’t save them…but Jesus can.

…and that’s good enough!

The frigid air blustered off the lake, through the tops of the pines, and into the small window of my tent, as I laid there awake—impatiently anticipating the break of dawn.

I never sleep well on the trail. I’m always exhausted, but the cold temperatures, the soreness within my body, and the orchestra of snoring that explodes from my fellow comrades prevents the Sandman from entering my domain. I just lay there…praying for sleep. Eventually, when the sleep refrains, I admit defeat and just pray for daylight.

That was the situation this past Friday morning. We had a huge trek looming in the near future. We were going to hike three miles down to the South Fork Valley, three miles along the South Fork to the base of the ascent, and then three miles to the summit of Tuolumne Peak…up 2500 vertical feet. I was excited and ready, but I worried about my aptitude for this climb. I didn’t sleep much…if any at all, and a cold virus had taken over my body Wednesday morning and was now escalating. Cold sores were invading my face and my sinus pressure was surmounting. The negative external factors were steadily increasing, causing fear and worry.

As we began the three-mile descent into the valley, I found myself staring at the trail in front of me rather than looking up and around at God’s spectacular enveloping creation. When I looked at the trail, my focus was limited to those elements within my vicinity…within my grasp. My thoughts turned inward…I dwelled on my sickness, my pains, my fatigue, and my limitations. The longer I stared at the trail, the more discouraged I became, bitterness and frustration swelled, and the goal of reaching the summit seemed far-fetched and insurmountable.

Eventually, we reached a clearing that looked out into the vast wilderness. We could see for miles. On display before us was one of God’s greatest masterpieces—granite sculpted by God’s glacial chisel. It was breathtaking. To the southeast, we could see our destination—Tuolumne Peak. My thoughts of desperation suddenly disappeared. I had a purpose…a reason to do the things I was about to do. As I continued on, I came to a realization: whenever I would gaze down toward the earth, my efforts became futile; whenever I would gaze upward…toward my goal, I would receive strength and encouragement. In due course, I reached the peak and sat high above the canvas composed of granite, pine, water, and ice and I praised the Creator—not only for this work of genius that stretched out beyond the horizon, but for God’s magnum opus…humankind. I praised God for the faith, courage, and conviction he gives to us when we look toward the heavens and fix our eyes on Jesus Christ who is “the pioneer and perfecter of faith” (Hebrews 12:2). I confessed for all the times I set my mind on earthly things, and let those things discourage me and infuse bitterness within my heart and soul.

Eight months ago, I received a letter from someone I deeply cared about that (in effect) terminated our relationship. I had grown to love this entity, respect it, and admire it—it was my employer. I believed with my entire being that God had delivered me to this position. I was convinced that this was my calling. I dedicated my entire life to serving my employer with loyalty and passion. I felt like a lover scorned…I still do. Whenever I gaze upon the trail, and my thoughts turn inward I become bitter and resentful. Whenever I worry about tomorrow…my mortgage, my financial situation, my future career, the anger swells into hatred and malice. Like an estranged lover, I lash out.

Why I believe my own bitterness, resentment, and rage will harm my former employer rather than further harm myself is beyond me? I know I need it to abscond. When this occurs, I’ve discovered a solution—an escape. By looking up, I find release from these things that bind me. If I focus on Christ, instead of earthly thing—the things along the trail—be that financial problems, career changes, frustrations, pains, fatigue, bitterness, and rage—by looking up, these things blow away with the wind down into the vast granite valley that lies before me. By dying to this life and the worries it carries, and looking up toward Christ at the right hand of God, my rage and bitterness disappear. By looking up, my goal is a reality and I’m assured that someday I’ll sit upon the mountain peak of God, high above His great canvas, and praise the Creator for all eternity.

“Since you have been raised to new life with Christ, set your sights on the realities of heaven, where Christ sits in the place of honor at God’s right hand. Think about the things of heaven, not the things of earth. For you died to this life, and your real life is hidden with Christ in God. And when Christ, who is your life, is revealed to the whole world, you will share in all his glory.”

—Colossians 3:1-4

The frost on my windows was finally starting to recede as the defrost from my 1987 Pontiac Grand Am started to fulfill its purpose…its destiny—to remove frost from my windows. I was driving back to college after meeting some friends in Sioux City for pizza and a movie. I had spent the last two months debating on whether to transfer from Buena Vista University in Storm Lake to Northwestern College in Orange City, Iowa. I had weighed the pros and cons and prayed relentlessly. The transfer was coming up…only two weeks away, so I decided to take that opportunity—driving alone under the star-filled January sky—to pray one more time. Sitting and praying at a stop light outside of Lawton, Iowa I suddenly felt the presence of Jesus sitting in the passenger seat next to me. Ten minutes later, I arrived in a cornfield, underneath a large radio tower, several miles off the beaten path. I recall “driving” to that particular destination, however, I don’t know why I did so, and really didn’t feel as if I was in control of my vehicle. I turned off the ignition and watched Orion peek his head above the horizon as if he was sneaking upon his prey while trying to remain unnoticed.  By the time Orion’s belt and sword were in clear view, I knew the answer to my prayers—I was supposed to stay at Buena Vista. I didn’t know why, I still don’t know why…but I had found peace. I turned my ignition, took the wheel back from Jesus, and drove home. For a brief moment, Jesus took complete control of me, and of my car, in order to provide me with a glimpse into God’s plan and purpose for my life.

My favorite novel of all time is A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving. I love all of John Irving’s work, but he doesn’t seem to advocate his New England liberal agenda in Owen Meany as much as some of his other works such as Cider House or Garp. Never before, and never since, have I laughed out loud and cried hysterically from reading a novel. Owen Meany is an unusually small, peculiar, odd-voiced, individual who believes whole-heartedly that he’s an instrument of God. Everything he says and does throughout the book is preparation for some unknown divine purpose. I’m not going to share what that purpose is, because I truly believe everyone should read this book…and I don’t want to ruin it for you. Owen believed, and said it openly, that “God had taken his hands” that his “hands were God’s instruments.” Owen’s belief in God’s omnipotence was so extreme, he felt amputated…like an armless pawn controlled by God in the chess game of life. Predestined for something greater than himself, Owen dedicated his life to God’s sovereignty. This obsession was evident in Owen’s fascination with amputees: an armless totem of the Native American Watahantowet, a dressmaker’s dummy, a beheaded, armless statue of Mary Magdalene, his best friend’s legless housemaid, and a stuffed armadillo with no hands or claws. Owen truly believed that all individuals were under the illusion that they are in control.  All human beings, according to Owen, are just armless, legless, headless pawns. The things our hands do, the places our legs carry us, the words our voices speak are predestined and predesigned by God for a greater purpose—there’s nothing we mortals can do to stop, altar, or manipulate God’s plan.

I’m a theologian from the Reformed tradition, so the doctrine of predestination shouldn’t frighten me so much…but it does. In fact, I’ve been blogging for 5 months now and haven’t even broached the subject. To what degree does God control the ongoings within His universe? The answer to this question immediately trickles down to the next, more pertinent question: Since we’re all undeserved, does God show mercy to some through unconditional election (eternal life in heaven)? Worse yet, does this mean that God withholds mercy to others through reprobation (eternal death in hell)? This is what my friend and colleague refers to as “bear-trap theology.”

One cannot deny the foreknowledge of God and his predestination of the elect:

 “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers and sisters. And those he predestined, he also called; those he called, he also justified; those he justified, he also glorified.”

—Romans 8:28-30

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love he predestined us for adoption to sonship through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will—to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves. In him we were also chosen,having been predestined according to the plan of him who works out everything in conformity with the purpose of his will, in order that we, who were the first to put our hope in Christ, might be for the praise of his glory.

—Ephesians 1:3-6, 11-12

Upon considering these passages, we have to define what predestination ultimately is and ask ourselves if the belief in God’s sovereignty, His omnipotence, and divine election automatically forces us to believe in reprobation. I don’t believe that it does, and I believe that the doctrine of “double predestination” is unbiblical. Nowhere in the Bible does it say that God chooses to hate the majority (or even some) of humankind and destines them to eternal damnation in hell. In fact, 2 Peter 3:9 reads, “The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. Instead he is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.”

Arminius proposed that one’s destiny is based on God’s foreknowledge as to whether someone accepts Jesus or rejects Him. The decision is ours, God knows what that decision will be, and therefore predetermines the outcome based on His foreknowledge. Arminius escaped the bear trap by passing the steering wheel back to the human being. We choose…God just knows what that choice will be.

I like that perspective, but it creates a theology that promotes individualism. We’re inclined to celebrate the individual, his or her decisions, his or her accomplishments, while deemphasizing God’s love, compassion, mercy, and passion to choose us, to adopt us, and to sign his name upon our hearts as our Father. An orphan doesn’t choose who his or her adoptive parents will be. The wonder and beauty of being adopted into God’s family is the fact that God chooses us. To turn the table around—to suggest that we chose to be a part of God’s family—just isn’t as comforting to me.

I believe firmly that God DOES have a plan and purpose for my life. I believe that out of his goodness, grace, and mercy, God adopted me (a fallen, broken sinner) into his family. I also believe that this occurred because of my faith…my free, individual choice to follow Jesus. So which comes first…my faith in Jesus Christ or God’s predestined plan for my life and my adoption into his family? I believe Arminius is correct…God’s election is based upon His foreknowledge of our faith. I’m just not comfortable with the individualistic theology that rears its ugly head within the Arminian tradition. How can we trust in God’s sovereignty, in his desire to be our Father…to choose us as his beloved son or daughter, without diminishing our own free will?

Owen Meany took things too far. We’re not helpless pawns…we’re not handless, clawless armadillos. Perhaps we are pawns with legs. God pushes us in the right direction, occasionally grabs our steering wheels and drives us to a radio tower in the middle of a cornfield, and then He sets us free to drive home. Perhaps it’s a mysterious and wonderful mix of divine sovereignty and human free-will. I’m not sure if I escaped the bear trap, but I’ve come to a point in my life where I have to accept that my God is a mystery. Like a husband who continues to be baffled, surprised, and captivated by the mysterious beauty of his wife, I’ll continue to bask in God’s awesome mystery and accept that there are some things that entrap me…and if God is the trapper—I’m OK with that.

A few years ago, while I was preparing breakfast, my daughter asked a simple question—simple to her.

“Dad, how come we can eat some eggs and other eggs have baby chickens in them?”

I pondered this question. In no way was I ready to broach the topic of fertilization at her delicate age. Let’s be honest…I don’t ever want to broach the topic of fertilization. I know how important this conversation is, and I’m aware that the conversation is inevitable. However, I’m quite comfortable with that topic currently hovering on the horizon of my foreboding future.

After several seconds of creative thought, I responded, “Married chickens have baby chickens. If the chicken isn’t married, it has eggs we can eat.”

I was extremely impressed with my response and my daughter accepted it. Of course she did. It was brilliant. I avoided the topic for a better, brighter day and I instilled a sense of morality within the universe of domesticated fowl. Of course, there were extraneous variables that would arise, but I was ready for them—or so I thought.

Variable 1—Foghorn Leghorn: When this familiar rooster comes “I say, I say, I sayin’” onto the screen and into the chicken coop, I cringe. “Daddy?” she asks, “Is that rooster married to all those chickens?” And like that, *hand gesturing a puff of smoke* I was gone.

Variable 2—Children of the Unmarried: God forbid the morality I so delicately infused into poultry should be carried out amongst us humans. Apparently, my daughter thinks it should. Go figure?!?!

Variable 3—Yesterday’s Trip to the Farm: Lots of calves—only one bull! My daughter asked my friend Lynnette (the farmer) the following question and I cringed: “Where are all the daddies?” Lynnette led my curious daughter out into the field to show her their ONE bull. I could see the gears spinning in my daughter’s head. “They all just have one daddy?” I found myself trying to find the door to the secret passage. There has to be a ladder around here, a gate, or maybe I can just bury myself in the manure. Thankfully, Lynnette, in what I can only describe as divine intervention said, “No, there are other daddies. They just don’t live here right now.” My daughter’s new-found understanding with non-traditional families helped her process this information. IT WORKED! IT WORKED! THANK GOD ALMIGHTY!  IT WORKED!

…for the time being.

As we made our way from the cattle yard to the chicken coop, I was prepared for my universe to come crashing down. Thankfully, the chickens pecking at my daughter’s boots, and the fact that there wasn’t a rooster in sight, helped stave off further variables. Yet, I’m sure they’ll arrive—and with more frequency in the days to come. Someday soon, my brilliant “Married Chickens” response will return to peck me right in my hiney.