Behold, all things have become new.
I have 15 free range chickens. For those of you unfamiliar with chicken terms, this means 30 chicken feet roam freely around my house and property. Yes, it can get a bit messy, but for the last two years I haven’t minded. However, I’ve recently had a change of heart and I can explain it quite succinctly.
We just finished our patio and deck, topping them off with new, off-white cushioned furniture and I’m sick of scrubbing off chicken you know what!
Call me shallow, but I now unashamedly have 15 free range chickens free to a good home. I simply won’t have chicken droppings on my new stuff. It’s yucky. It stinks. It’s sorely out of place, and I came to this conclusion in less time than it would take to poach an egg. It’s out with the old and in with the new here at the Whittemore house.
Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, my visceral reaction to this has created an uncomfortable thought I’ve been forced to wrestle with. You see, I’ve been a new creation for quite some time. To go with the present theme, my spiritual decks and patios were redone decades ago. So in light of this, and to keep up the metaphor, I’m left wondering why I haven’t gotten rid of my other chickens of sorts? For instance…
Why do I give my sharp tongue free range, when it is completely out of place?
Why do I tolerate my resentment when it leaves a stain?
Why do I bend my ear toward gossip when it just makes a mess?
Why do I harbor my arrogance when it always leaves a giant stink?
Sadly, the list could go on and I’m left wondering why I keep this stuff around when all it does is dirty up what has already been made white. Why do I tolerate it? It stinks and it has no place.
I’m a new creation, the old is gone, the new has come. It’s time to get rid of my chickens.
How about yours?
PS. And seriously, 15 egg layers free to a good home (or butcher .