Scripture Squiggle: Ephesians 6: 11-13

"Put on the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil.
  For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.
  Wherefore take unto you the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand."

Every morning I put on my shoes, a pair of gloves and grab our broken green push broom in preparation of feeding our docile, mixed flock of chickens.  If they're docile, why do I need the gloves and broom?  Because of the feisty, full-of-himself rooster waiting just outside the chicken run.


In early October of 2011 my dad brought over ten cute little, fluffy red-brown chicks that peeped and scratched at their cardboard box.  Ten Rhode Island Reds, guaranteed-to-be-hens chicks.  But by the first of February, as the time neared to move the young chickens from their small coop to join the mature chickens in the run, we were pretty certain that one of those now teen-aged birds was not a hen.

Chanticleer, as we called him, had a bigger comb, bigger body, and a fluffier, more colorful greenish tail than his sisters.  The feathers around his neck were shiny and smooth.  And he made a strange croaking sound like a toddler trying to imitate a rooster.

To be sure, I read up on Rhode Island Red roosters.  Chanticleer matched every description I found.  I  also discovered that these roosters were very protective of their flock and had been known to kill a fox if it threatened their hens.

Good.  Hopefully we wouldn't lose anymore of our birds to the wandering neighborhood dogs that had taken at least five of our original flock.

But we wanted chickens for the eggs, not to raise more chickens, so, with the help of my two teenagers, I clipped Chanti's wings and tossed him on the other side of the  fence, into the backyard.

At first he stayed close to the hens.  Whenever I went into the run to feed, water and collect eggs, Chanti would shadow my movements on the other side of the fence.  And his feeble attempts at crowing weren't enough to wake me in the early morning hours.  I felt kind of attached to him.

Attached enough to put off my husband's suggestion that we make a meal out of Chanti.  Instead, I pointed out that we hadn't seen any cats roaming around the yard in the weeks since we'd separated Chanticleer from the rest of the flock.

But the first time the rooster attacked me, I changed my mind.  I had just finished feeding and water the hens and was headed over to give Chanti his share of the feed and refill his water dish.  Walking past him as always, I started to dump the pitcher of water when Chanti jumped at me, his red-brown feathers puffed up like he'd been dried without a dryer sheet.  In response, I threw the rest of the water at him.  With a squawk, he sulked away while I tossed his feed down and hurried back into the house.

Over the next few weeks his attacks became more aggressive.  In the beginning, I could easily fend Chanti off with a quick kick in his direction, but as his crow matured, so did his boldness.  Soon enough I started carrying a short stick anytime I went in to see the hens.  We began dumping Chanti's food over the fence to keep him distracted while we escaped the run and went back to the house.

I didn't start using the broom until Chanti's attack on my husband.  One afternoon, he was checking on the garden, on the opposite side of our large yard than the coop, when Chanticleer came bounding across the lawn and jumped at him.  Twice.  Despite the hard kicks my husband landed in defending himself.

Needless to say, Chanti's days are now numbered.

But, like the wickedness and evil that we know exists in the world, I knew that Chanti had an aggressive streak.  It was part of his nature.  Yet, I didn't prepare myself to face that meanness, until after it almost had painful consequences.  And even after his attacks caused my daughter to spill feed and my son to drop some eggs, we still relied on our own strength to protect us.

Sometimes we face Satan and his temptations the same way, boldly trusting in our own strength and cunning to keep us from his grasp, when we would have been better off girding ourselves with the Lord's armor.

We know the devil's character.  We know he is cunning and tricky and determined to get us.  Knowing this, we should never face him unarmed, but we should beat him off, standing strong in the armor the Lord has given us, even if our only weapon is a broken push broom!

Scripture Squiggle: Galatians 5:13

"For, brethren, ye have been called unto liberty; only use not liberty for an occasion to the flesh, but by love serve one another."


I heard my husband's aunt banging around in the stairwell as she lugged her bags upstairs.  I thought about offering to help, even set down the measuring spoon I was holding and started toward the stairs, but something stopped me.  What if she didn't want help?  What if by offering to help, I made her feel weak or offended her?  With those thoughts in mind, I waited for her to reach the top of the stairs, thinking that maybe I could give her a hand then.

As I hesitated, my twelve year old son walked into the kitchen and saw his aunt as she approached the gate at the top of the stairs.  "Tricia, do you need help?"  Even as he asked, he was already moving forward, opening the gate and helping her get her bulky bags through.  He then opened the door of the house for her and followed her outside to make sure she was able to get everything in her car.

Why did I hesitate?

Elder M. Russel Ballard, in a general conference session in April of 2011 counseled, "we need to be sensitive to the promptings of the Holy Ghost. The still, small voice will let us know who needs our help and what we can do to help them."

I felt the prompting to help, and I wanted to heed it, but I let my fear of man overcome my fear of the Lord.  And this wasn't the first time.

Recently, after learning that a friends daughter was in the hospital in serious condition after a fall off a swing, I thought about the long drive they had from their house to get to the hospital and the rising price of gas and wondered if I could do anything to help.

I considered giving them a call and offering them some money, but I worried I might upset them by assuming they needed my help.

Most times, I don't have too much trouble heeding the Holy Ghost's promptings.  But when they relate to other people, people I don't know very well or even at all, I struggle.  How can I learn to set aside my doubts and worries about how someone will receive my service and just do it?

Elder Ballard offers this advice: "Brothers and sisters, may I reemphasize that the most important attribute of Heavenly Father and of His Beloved Son that we should desire and seek to possess within our lives is the gift of charity, 'the pure love of Christ.' From this gift springs our capacity to love and to serve others as the Savior did."

Charity doesn't come to us overnight.  We have to pray for it, and we have to work to attain it.  As with all things in the gospel of Jesus Christ, line upon line--a little at a time.

The next time the Holy Ghost urges me to do something for someone else, I'll do my best to respond without doubts and worry.  If I succeed, I'll have taken an important step towards developing charity.

Scripture Squiggle: 2 Nephi 24:16

"They that see thee shall narrowly look upon thee, and shall consider thee, and shall say: Is this the man that made the earth to tremble, that did shake kingdoms?"


Last night as the family was gathering for scripture and prayer, my 16 year old son told my husband that he needed to talk to us before he went to bed.  My stomach knotted up as I thought about all the awful things he might be about to tell us.

Satan works that way on me.

He starts feeding me all of the worst-case possibilities anytime something breaks, someone is late coming home, or a teenager wants to talk.  And even though I try my best to turn to the Lord and trust the peace and reassurances he gives me, I always seem to keep Satan's version of things in the back of my mind, wondering if maybe he's right.

So as we walked down the hall to my room to talk, I envisioned tales of secret girlfriends, teen pregnancy, failing classes and suspensions from school, even though I know my son stresses over a C on his report card and can't even jokingly lie to us with a straight face.

I let Satan have those few moments to torment me, which he did rather well.

Until my son confessed that he forgot to turn in his application essay for National Junior Honor Society.  Oh that's all?  Why was I worried?


I look forward to the day when Satan's true character is revealed and he stands powerless before the righteous.    I hope I'm there to say, "Is this the man that made the earth to tremble, that did shake kingdoms?"

Until then, I'll try my best to ignore the trembling and shaking he sends in my direction.

Scripture Squiggle: 2 Nephi 28:30

"For behold, thus saith the Lord God: I will give unto the children of men line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little and there a little; and blessed are those who hearken unto my precepts, and lend an ear unto my counsel, for they shall learn wisdom; for unto him that receiveth I will give more; and from them that shall say, We have enough, from them shall be taken away even that which they have."

I walk up the stairs in my house multiple times in a day, often carrying a sturdy two-year old, and I've done this now for over a year.  So, why don't my legs feel any stronger?  Why do I still struggle up all fifteen steps when my little boy decides he needs a free ride?

The answer, I believe, comes from laziness.  Yes, I climb those darn stairs A LOT!  But I only climb them when I have to.  What would happen if I pushed myself a little and threw in an extra trip down and up every time a task required me to move from one floor to the next?  

Well, for one thing, my thighs and buttocks would scream at me the next morning.  And they would protest each step I took the next day.  But if were to challenge my body by continuing the extra trips, soon my legs would get stronger and I could totally handle it.  However, if I didn't continue to challenge myself, adding even more journeys down and up, my strength would again plateau.

Spiritually, we are much the same.  If we try to glide through life on the basic primary answers--say your prayers, go to church and read your scriptures--we will be stuck, our spiritual growth will stagnate.  Climbing the spiritual stairs of prayer, scripture study, and meeting attendance will take all of our energy and never get any easier.

Instead, we must challenge ourselves spiritually: stay on our knees longer, read another verse, try to apply something we learned on Sunday to our lives.  

Spiritual strength doesn't just happen any more than physical strength does.  

One of my favorite quotes is: If you don't feel close to the Lord, who moved?

Start climbing those steps back to Him.  

Scripture Squiggle: Doctrine and Covenants 68:28

"And they shall also teach their children to pray, and to walk uprightly before the Lord."


Most nights I don't feel like I'm teaching my two youngest boys anything about prayer.  Even when I do manage to convince them to get on their knees and fold their arms, they start driving toy cars around the living room or tackling each other as soon as the prayer starts.

But Wednesday night, my five-year old proved to me that he is indeed learning.

We discovered on Monday that our home's well water was contaminated so my husband and our neighbor had to clean the well and treat it with chlorine.  On Tuesday we were able to turn the water back on, but the water had too much chlorine in it to consume. As my husband and I were headed out to celebrate my birthday, we gave our children strict instructions to only drink from the water bottles we had filled at my parents' house.

When we arrived home, in the madness of getting our children ready for bed, Cyrus came running to me, a look of sheer panic on his face.

"I accidentally drank some of the yucky water!"

I assured him that a little bit, especially since it had come out of our filtered water spout, wouldn't hurt him.  He'd be fine.

Later that night, after Cy had fallen asleep, I learned that his older brother had told him and the other young boys that if they drank the water, they'd die.  No wonder Cy was scared to death.  But since he seemed okay with things, I dismissed the thought.

Until Wednesday evening when Cy again approached me.

"Mom.  Sometimes Secada prays."

"That's good." I didn't turn away from my computer screen.

"Sometimes I pray.  I prayed last night."

"Oh.  What did you pray for?"  Again, I gave him only a small portion of my attention.

"That I wouldn't die."

That got my attention.  My little Cy-Cy had been afraid he was going to die, and in his fear, he knew enough to turn to his Heavenly Father.  I wrapped him in a hug and tried not to let him see my tears.

Scripture Squiggle: 3 Nephi 16:13

"But if the Gentiles will repent and return unto me, saith the Father, behold they shall be numbered among my people, O house of Israel."


The man sitting on our tattered green couch looked frustratingly familiar.  He introduced himself and his teenage son as our new home teachers, and I had seen him around the church building a few times, but I was sure I knew him from somewhere else.

I studied him, noting his short blond hair and faded blue eyes, and guessed that he was probably around my age.  Then, when he mentioned his old high school, my old high school, I began to suspect.  As soon as the door closed behind them, I dug out my yearbooks to confirm what I already knew.  It was him, and he didn't seem to remember me.

But then, why would he?  Although the incident at the football game had been important to me, it had probably meant nothing to him.

I saw him everyday the first semester of my freshman year.  We passed in the crowded hallway after Algebra, and after a few weeks I found myself looking forward to seeing his handsome face each day.  Eventually he smiled at me--one of those shy smiles that sent my heart thudding against the books I hugged to my chest.

The next day he stopped me in the middle of the hall, people shoving past us on all sides, and asked if I'd like to meet him at the football game that night.  My mouth felt dry; I didn't trust any sound to come out without squeaking, so I nodded.  I was rewarded with another smile.

"See ya tonight."

My hands shook as I showed the gate attendant my ID card.  I peered around him, trying to catch a glimpse of the bleachers while he counted out the change from my entry fee.  Shoving the bills in my pocket, I walked toward the field, worried that he wouldn't show.

But when I reached the bleachers, he stood and jogged down the steps to reach me.  We walked together back to where he'd been sitting with a group of his friends.

"You look great."  He gave me that smile again.

I sat on the cold metal bench, mumbled a thank you and wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans.

He straddled the bench so he was facing me.  "Do you want a smoke?"

My stomach began to protest my dinner.  I looked from my hands to his smiling, handsome face and swallowed nervously.  Around us, some of his friends had already lit up and the acrid smell of smoke began to drift over me.  I felt a tickle in my lungs as the smoke triggered my asthma; I scratched at my throat.  "I guess not."

"Oh."  His wonderful smile disappeared as he moved to face forward.  "Well, I do."

Not knowing what else to do, I stood up and walked back down the bleachers.  He didn't try to stop me.

No.  He had no reason to remember me.  But that night was the first time anyone had so openly asked me to  do something I knew was wrong.  So I remembered.

And now fifteen years later, he was my home teacher.  A faithful, concerned home teacher, as it turned out, who brought us chocolate chip cookies and Oreos.

Evidence that the Lord gives each of his children a chance to return and repent.





 

Scripture Squiggle: Isaiah 55:8-9

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord
For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts."


A few years ago, when my car broke down, again, I borrowed my brother's Grand Am, which happened to be the car I learned to drive on.  When I climbed in, even though I hadn't driven the car in a long time, everything felt familiar.  I had no trouble readjusting to driving a stick shift.  So I was very confused when, after stopping to check the mail, I couldn't get the car to start.

I tried every trick I knew before I finally gave in and called my brother.  He ran through the list of things I had already attempted.

"I've done all that."

"Then I don't know what to tell you."

I sighed.  "Great."

"Okay, stupid question: Are you using the right key?"

I rolled my eyes.  "Of course I'm using the right key."  Although he couldn't see me, I raised my hand to prove to him that my car and mailbox keys were in my hand and the Grand Am key was in the ignition.  But the keys in my hand were not mine.  "Oh."

I swapped the keys and the car started immediately on my next attempt.


Sometimes I get so wrapped up in trying to figure out the solution to things, that I make things more complicated than they really are.  Or I think I know enough about something that I don't need any outside help.

Most of the time, I'm wrong.

And when I finally yield myself up to sincere prayer, I often find that the answer was so simple, I had merely overlooked it.  But, had I remembered that the Lord's ways are not mine and taken a step back to view my troubles from His perspective, the solution would have been plain before me.

Just as it was with the keys.  I was so certain that the problem had something to do with the car, rather than the driver, that I didn't see my simple mistake.  The world's way is to look outward, to blame our troubles on things beyond our control, but the Lord's way is to look inward.