I cannot control the dumb chickens. They chirp louder and louder and then look at me sideways like a dare. I know they’re planning their escape. They stretch their awkward wings and flail. Up to the top of the water container they go, falling on the way. Stretching all through to get to the edge of their confinement. Finally, after hours of trying, they succeed. I know this because I regularly find them on the furniture or under the kitchen table, looking just as surprised as I am as to how they got there.
I realize that I’m clearly a fool to think I have it all together. I don’t. And just like I can’t keep these chicks from bolting, I can’t manage much else in my life. It’s a lie from the enemy that makes me believe I should. All that I am responsible for is my desperate reliance on God and how I position myself next to him every single day. If I can control anything it has to be how I fast I run to him when I realize everything else is beyond my grasp. It’s not a place of giving up. It’s a place of surrender.