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Previous Challenge Entry (Level 2 – Intermediate)
Topic: PATIENT (11/25/21)
Every spring, we kids hopped in the pickup and rode twelve miles to the Post Office in Lewis, Kansas. It was a journey to pick up a new batch of Spring baby chickens. We peeked through the holes in the shallow cardboard box. It was full of soft, yellow, peeping baby chicks.

We took them directly to the brooder house. Daily my sister and I went to visit the chicks. The minute we opened the door, they panicked. Dust, feathers, and chicks cheeped and flew in all directions. We quickly closed the door, and we were patient and stood quietly. The chicks settled down and headed back to the center of the room, huddled under a metal tent with a light bulb in the center.

Those chicks grew fast, which led to chores. Around 1953, I was age six, and my assignment was to gather eggs. My bucket was cream-colored, dented, metal with BB Gun holes scattered through it, thanks to my brother and his Daisy BB Gun.

Every evening when I gathered eggs, I crawled over a board that Dad nailed across the chicken coop door to keep the sheep out of the chicken house. Our chickens nested in a row of wooden boxes, covered with gunny sack curtains. The chicken coop had a musty, feathery smell.

I was not particularly eager to gather eggs, and I was not too fond of the setting hens. They refused to get off their nests, and they pecked at me as I tried to get their eggs. Occasionally I would decide to skip over their nest and let them keep their eggs. But Dad always knew what was going on.

He would walk into the chicken house and would patiently demonstrate, “This is how you do it, Dandy.” I stared in disbelief as I watched his large, tanned, and scarred hand fearlessly reach under the hen as she pecked away at him. He handed me three eggs at a time without flinching and gently placed them in my bucket. He didn’t seem to mind that eggs were dirty and the hens were pecking at him.

One day, I devised a new plan to deal with the setting hens. I grabbed the longest stick I could find. I started yelling and banging the stick around as I entered the chicken coop. I hoped the noise would make them hop out of their nest. After gathering half my eggs and yelling at the hens, I reached into a dark nest, and a giant grey rat jumped out. It startled me as it quickly zig-zagged across the chicken coop floor.

I ran screaming out of the chicken house, tripping over the board Dad nailed across the door. I dropped my bucket, broke the eggs, skinned my knee, and sat in a pile on the gravel crying.

The next thing I knew, Daddy was lifting me in his arms, listening to me patiently between sobs. “A big giant rat scared me, I broke my eggs, and look at my skinned knee.”

He helped me clean up my mess, took my hand, and together we finished my chores. I prayed to God that night that I would never have to gather eggs again.

My daddy was an example of our Heavenly Father. He always knew what was going on. He was patient, listened to our fears, and felt our pain. He was always ready to embrace us and give us a second chance. Then he walked with me, helping me along the way.

After patiently waiting for ten years, I left the farm for college. God finally answered my childhood prayer. I never had to gather eggs again.

Non-fiction
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Member Comments
Member
Date
Margo McKenzie 
12/03/21
Dear author of “God Always Answers,”

Living in an urban area, I’m intrigued reading about rural life and how it can teach broader life lessons. The story is a compelling one from your life with the example of a patient father and God who hears prayers we may have never actually uttered, a subtle message in the story. I thought you could have expanded on the impatience of the boy and what he learned about why hens stay in their nests like a patient parent protect their young from harm. The three parallels of patient hen, father and Father are compelling. God answers—for son and, no doubt, the father—that his son would grow in patience.

It would have help me if you clarify why you went to the post office to retrieve these chicks. Was a vendor there? An agreed-upon meeting place? In addition, in paragraph six there is ambiguity about whether your father handed you the eggs or put the eggs in the basket himself.

All in all, I was warmed by the story of an adult looking back with admiration at his parent and his God.

Sincerely,
Marlene MCPherson
12/09/21
This story is captivating, real and relatable.It is colourful
and I like your conclusion.Thanks for sharing.