Count Your Chickens

1 John 2:15-17 - Do not love the world or anything in the world.  If anyone loves the world, love for the Father is not in them.  For everything in the world - the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life - comes not from the Father but from the world.  The world and its desires pass away, but whoever does the will of God lives forever.

My dad is a self-proclaimed redneck.  His idea of evening attire is starched Wranglers and a shirt that comes on a hanger.  He often gets food stuck in his Kenny Rogers mustache, and explains in a booming voice that he's "saving it for later."  He's got dirt under his nails, wears socks with his flip flops, and uses a cougar pelt to stay warm on cold winter nights. 

He's also the best chef I've ever met.  He can create furniture that would make Ethan Allen drool.  He constructs entire buildings with his bare hands.  And he's one of the wisest people I know.  I don't know if it's something particular to rednecks, or if it's just dads in general, but my dad loves to speak in cliches.  On Father's Day, I was thinking of all the ism's my dad has bestowed upon me.  I'm not sure this is what God meant when He called parents to impress His commandments on their children.  But then again, God probably doesn't speak Redneck.

"Lose the expectations.  If you never have 'em, you'll never be disappointed."

"Don't be buyin' nuthin' when you ain't got a pot to piss in or a window to throw it outta."

"You can't control people no more'n you can control the weather."

"Don't count your chickens 'fore they're hatched."

Hatched, unhatched, fried, baked, or barbecued, I've always been an excellent chicken counter. I could tell you which chickens were IN, which were OUT, and whose coop was the coolest.  Not only could I count my own chickens, I was quite proficient at sizing up your chickens and comparing them to mine.  If my henhouse didn't measure up, no problem.  I'd just go buy more chickens.  And you could bet the farm they'd be better than yours.

My dad never had a cliche for why I did this.  If you were to ask him, he'd probably blame it on my two X chromosomes.  But it turns out my chicken-counting craze was based more on my feelings of unhappiness and inadequacy than a fetish for fowl.

This little voice in my head whispered things like:

"You're not pretty enough."  (You need a new outfit.  And don't forget the shoes.) 

"You're not thin enough."  (After you join a gym, make sure you raid the athletic department of every store within a 10-mile radius.)

"Your car isn't suitable for a family."  (Run to the closest dealership and blow $40k for a DVD player and a third row of seats.) 

"Your house isn't on the right side of town."  (Add another $35k in mortgage payments for 500 extra square feet and Location, Location, Location!)

Have you ever felt this way? Have you ever thought, "If only I had that ______________, I would be happy." Or how about, "If I get that _____________, I'll finally measure up."  Let me tell you...it ain't gonna happen.  I was so busy counting and comparing chickens, I totally overlooked the fact that everything in my henhouse was covered in chicken poop!  All of it, right down to the $25 tube of designer lip gloss that I just couldn't live without, would eventually be used up, broken down, out of style, stained, old, wrinkled, cracked, or smelly.  Can I tell you something?  That _____________ will never make you happy. It will never make you worthy of anything more than the split second it would take to light a match and send your henhouse up in smoke.   Take it from a girl who's seen the ashes on the bottom of God's boot heel.  One minute I was counting chickens; the next I was running from the flames. 

God's greatest desire is a relationship with YOU.  He doesn't give two Hallelujahs about your Mercedes or your half-million-dollar home or your Jimmy Choo pumps.  Jimmy Choo couldn't pick you out of a crowd, but Jesus Christ knows every hair on your head and He whispered your name as He took His last breath.  He will do anything to make you understand that He is all you need.  If a trip to Rock Bottom is what it takes, He's got your bags packed, your ticket stamped, and your itinerary photocopied.  I don't recommend a road trip before you start looking for a new henhouse.  But if you find yourself at Rock Bottom, or even just on a dark, bumpy road, don't worry.  He'll meet you wherever you are - all you've got to do is call His name. 

Once you leave Rock Bottom, the chickens change.  They are no longer sparkly or silky or shiny.  They are the "I love you's" from your children at the exact moment you've become certain that you're the worst mom ever.  They are birdsongs that catch your attention when you can't stop worrying about the bills.  They are friends who know when you need a good hug or a good laugh.  They are God taking all your filth and turning it into fortune. 

By His Grace, I can see that my worth is not what I hold in my hands, but in the Hands that hold my heart.  My life is so full of blessings!  And He wants me to count those chickens every single day.

So go ahead...count your chickens.  Just make sure you're in the right henhouse.