Running With Chickens

Of course, not everyone sees it the way I do.

I simply call it “free range” – I’ve read that it helps improve egg quality, omega content, and increase the vitamins and minerals.

But the neighbors, especially the ones in the apartments next to us, don’t necessarily look on those long-ranging chickens with the same affection and appreciation as our family does. In fact, over the past year we have had countless comments – and even a phone call or two, “Hey, did you know your chickens are wandering around the apartment complex?”

No kidding… they’re “FREE RANGE!”

Our immediate neighbor has donated more than one of his garden plants and decorative flowers to the health and well-being of our growing flock. And, in case you are wondering if flowers change the taste of the eggs… they don’t. He got fed up with it and finally put a fence with smaller links around his back yard. Lucky for the chickens, he only put a 3 foot high fence and the chickens, who roost at about 14 feet up in the barn rafters had no problem hopping over the fence and continuing their feast.

Sunday, while visiting with some of the children from the apartments, I was even informed that several of those wild roaming hens were trying to check the mail – or at least had gotten up on top of the apartment’s mail box and were pecking, cackling, and producing biological waste products. Humm, the mailbox is about a block away from our property… that's definitely “free ranging.”

But that is all about to change…

Now, it is not like I’m trying to keep chickens in a 20’x20’ backyard. I mean, we have almost 2 acres of property. But, it’s a funny thing… those blasted “free range” chickens seem to be magnetized to everyone else’s property and seemed compelled to go to great lengths to get into their properties. Well, at last, with winter coming on, I determined that enough is enough.

“At the crack of dawn tomorrow morning, we are going to rebuild the chicken coop and create a large-scale run that the chickens will never be able to get out of,” I declared to the children on Friday night.

So, Saturday, the sun peeked over the eastern mountains to find five of my children by my side in the barnyard huddled up and making plans for the incarceration of our hen colony.

“Joshua and Esther, dig through the scrap wood pile and find me three boards 7 feet long each – if they are longer, we’ll cut them down.”

“Jared, you and Tony (that’s the neighbor boy from one of the apartments who loves helping us work on the farm), you guys go round me up some more tee-posts. I think there are a couple by the cherry tree and then a few more back by the first gate.”

“Hyrum, get me the wire cutters, the nails, and the hammer.”

“Isaac, will you take this bowl into mom and then bring me out some water? We’ll need that too, before long… and HURRY! everyone – there is a good storm coming and I’d rather not do this project in the rain.”

So, off they went while I began measuring fencing and designing the run. Within a few hours we were digging holes for fence posts, making gates, pounding tee-posts, hanging chicken wire off the barn roof and generally working up a good sweat working on the project.

As I drilled the corners of the new gate together I looked up to see my children. Some were helping with the gate, others cutting baling wire, and other scooping manure into the wheelbarrow. The thrill of the moment was rich and satisfying. Into my mind came the scriptureal edict given to Adam and Eve when they were cast out of the Garden of Eden:

“In the sweat of they face shalt thou eat bread…”

I also thought of the scripture that says,

“Thou shalt not be idle; for he that is idle shall not eat the bread nor wear the garments of the laborer.”

And finally, the rather poignant wisdom from Proverbs that mixes no words:

“Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise:”

In all of these work is the central theme. I couldn’t help wonder to myself if I was really teaching them the values of hard work ethic – or, as Solomon puts it – the ways of the ant.

Maybe I was. Maybe, that morning as we were running around with the chickens, we were all learning a little more about getting the job done, personal sacrifice, self sufficiency and the thrill of straining your muscles and bending your arm for a worthy cause.

Maybe, in years to come, the day with the chickens would be long forgotten, but the principles embedded in my children would carry them through the tough times that lay ahead. No doubt, one day they would be tasked with raising children, providing for a family, doing an honest day’s work for an employer, serving others when it was uncomfortable, or giving of their time when they really didn’t want to.

Maybe, just maybe, in those times when life called on them to give their all, the lessons they learned today will empower them to rise up and claim the greatness they were born to inherit.

So, while not everyone – very few in fact – can have 2 acres, 50 chickens, and 40 apartment residents to serve as a peanut gallery, I can’t help but believe that all parents everywhere can find a way to have their own “day with the chickens” and teach their children how to work.

Good Night Home...

The small cuckoo clock in the front living room rings every hour and half hour.

Actually, its not a cuckoo clock at all – it is an old Dutch sanse clock that I got from a flea market just outside of Nijmegen, Netherlands. It has the mystical god Atlas mounted atop a chime – and of course, Atlas is holding up the world.

The chime is small, but clear and beautiful. The truth is we have gotten so used to it, that I’m not sure anyone in the house really notices it anymore. But, I do… at least I try to around 7pm.

Seven chimes are important around our house. They tell us that the afternoon is spent, the working hours are past and it is time to “put the house to bed.”

The chimes are almost always heard while we are sitting at the dinner table, finishing up our evening meal together. “Hurry guys! We’ve got to get this house put to bed!” Everyone knows that is the call to arms.

Esther snaps to attention and grabs the broom and begins sweeping the floor.

Joshua slowly but surely takes command of the sink and dishwasher.

Jared – when he finally stops playing around and making everyone laugh – starts heading out to do the evening chores with Hyrum.

Hyrum grabs a half gallon pitcher and goes with Jared to do chores… that would be milking the goat for Hyrum and feeding the animals for Jared.

Isaac and Brigham pick up the floor and clear the table.

Mary gets a bottle and heads down to bed.

Sariah and Margie quietly sit in the rocking chair singing lullabies and nursing.

When it is all said and done, the hustle, bustle and clutter of the day are swept aside. The dishes are done, the floor clean, and the table cleared. The cushions on the couches (always in a state of disarray from pillow fights, tickle time, naps, and fort making) are fluffed and put back in their proper place. The bathroom is straightened up and the library floor is cleared of the countless books that have been pulled off shelves by little hands and eager minds.

In short, our little home is ready for another day of chaos, fun, learning, eating, playing, and resting.

Pajamas are on and everyone goes down the staisr to start the bedtime ritual. With the upstairs empty, I make the rounds, turning out lights and inspecting the night’s work. More often than not, I find myself pausing at the light switch between the dining room and hallway. From there I can see into the kitchen, the dining room, the living room, down to the bathroom and a small glimpse of my office. Call me a romantic, nostalgic fool, but in my mind I can see the little feet pattering over the tile floor… I see the older children learning, reading, writing, and learning at the table… I hear the voices of laughter, and yes, sometimes frustration and anger, as my children learn to get along together… I see the bright eyes of home and the mess of living with 8 children.

A sense of awe and wonder always fills me in those reflective moments. “How can life be so rich, so full, so exciting, so wonderful?” I wonder. It’s times like this when the goodness and greatness of God simply overwhelm me.

With that, I sigh, reach out and turn out the last light. In the darkness, peals of laughter and the sounds of bedtime come drifting up the stairs, beckoning to me like an irresistible siren’s song.

As I reach the stairs, that old Dutch clock in the living room peals its own quiet note of laughter – 7:30pm and all is well. As the sweet sound reaches my ears I whisper, “Good night home,” and I eagerly head down to join the fun.

Good Parenting With 20 Metal Brackets and 2 Wires

This morning, his comments were echoing through my ears… “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Sitting on the operatory chair in my brother-in-laws dental office, I did have to wonder what in the world I was doing there.

Sure, a couple of my teeth were not perfectly straight, but it had never really bothered me before – at least not to the point that I had been willing to spend any money to get them fixed. And, hey, my beautiful, amazing wife had married me crooked teeth and all, so it was not like I needed them straight to impress the ladies or increase my chances of a hot date… I had one of those every day, all day. To top all that off, my children all loved me, no matter what my teeth looked like.

So, why was I sitting on the side of the chair staring at the 20 metal brackets and 2 orthodontic wires sitting on the tray next to me? This was going to cost me time, money, and pain – and for what?

“You know what Joe, let’s do it,” I said, “Joshua is getting braces on and Esther has had them on for 3 months already. I want to be an example to them of trying new things.”

He shrugged his shoulders, gave me that coy grin of his, chuckled with a mirthful laugh that said, “Ok... but you have no idea what you’re getting into!” and had me lay down in the chair.

2 hours later I felt like someone had snapped a pair of vice grip pliers on my teeth and was mercilessly yanking on them. If that wasn’t bad enough, there was this wire digging in here and a bracket grinding on my lips there. But, truthfully, all-in-all, as I walked out of the office, it wasn’t too bad.

This morning, almost 48 hours later, my whole face feels loose and sore, especially the two teeth that are most out of line. The raw lip syndrome has set in with a fury and sleeping has been a bit troublesome because every time I roll over my face presses against the pillow and reminds me that the vice grips are still there yanking on my teeth.

It is a constant reminder of the last thing Dr. Joe told me as I sat up from the procedure, “Well, you’re a great dad, Joshua. You know you’re going to have about 5 times the discomfort and pain that your children will have – right?” Now he tells me… thanks a lot!

In truth, I would have done it anyway.

I was there for that exact reason – to be a good dad. I have heard so often that example is the only teacher and the more I strive to raise my children to greatness, the more I realize the profound truth of that statement.

Example says, “If I can do it, so can you!” It urges on, calls to rise up and join those that are going before. It removes excuses and levels the playing field. It drives teachings, lessons, ideas, principles, deep into the realm of reality and extracts them from the vague, superficial and obscure. Example makes it all real.

But there is something more that it does – something that is even more powerful that all of that.

This morning, during my personal scripture study, I discovered what that “more” is. Paul, talking to the Hebrews, stated this about our Savior:

“For in that he himself hath suffered being tempted, he is able to succour them that are tempted.”

And another ancient prophet has said:

"And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities."

Setting the example does not just allow me to lead out, forge the way, and level the playing field for my children, it gives me the same experiences that they are having – or will have.

This gives me, as a parent, enormous power to guide, influence, comfort, care for, understand, love, respect, appreciate, and nurture my children in a way that would not be possible if I had not actually experienced the thing for myself.

With that insight in mind, is it any wonder that Christ came to earth and took up flesh? Is it any wonder that God, that created heaven and earth and had all power, still needed to actually, physically experience this life like we would?

He did it because He loves us. He not only wanted to set the example, but He wanted to know and understand, so that He could comfort and guide us in all of our trials, afflictions, griefs, joys, and success. We can never say to the Savior, “Well, you just don’t understand what I am going through.” But we can turn to Him in all aspects of our life and in all circumstances, with the confidence that He has been there, He knows and He can help.

Peter stated this:

"For even hereunto were ye called: because Christ also suffered for us, leaving us an example, that ye should follow his steps"

From the Savior Himself, we hear:

"Follow me, and do the things which you have seen me do."

As a parent, this is my new creed: To follow the example of the Savior by setting the example for my children in every way possible. Even if it means being strapped with 20 brackets and 2 wires.

A Mighty Rush of Wind

Abruptly, and without any warning, Isaac stopped in the middle of the trail. “Dad, I’m going to tell you this… I never give up, but I’m just going to walk a minute.”

I couldn’t really blame him. The hill we were on up Hobble Creek Canyon was tough for just about anyone, let alone a 5 year old on a regular little MX dirt bike without gears. So, I geared up, and slowly pedaled beside him for a while.

The other three children were well ahead of us. The trail was quiet and we had it all to ourselves. Right about then, I was sure glad that I had listened to him when he begged to come with us on the ride. We were all a little hesitant, but I just could not say no to that pleading, longing, hopeful look in his sweet young eyes. So, I said in the heartiest voice I could muster, “Sure, Isaac! Of course you can come along! We were hoping you’d ask.”

Well, if the joy that leaped into his eyes right them was not enough reward for me – and his three older siblings… because they sure got a kick out of it as well – then this moment on the hill was paying me back 100 fold.

“Daddy, I’m going to tell you this… today, my teacher learned me this song… ‘One, two, buckle my shoe – three, four, shut the door – five, six, pick up sticks… ah what’s the next part dad?”

I had to smile. When he started the song, his pudgy little fingers on his right hand began shooting up. But now, needing to use the other hand, he was having a little trouble managing the bike. Plus, the whole song recital had distracted him from walking in a straight line and he was zigzagging wildly around the trail. What, with my laughing so hard, and trying to keep my balance while riding VERY slow, and trying to avoid his sudden zigs here and zags there, it was just about all I could do to avoid crashing into the poor boy.

“Well, dad, what’s next?”

Oh, right.

“Seven, eight, laa…”

“No, dad! I know the rest, don’t say it! Seven, eight lay them straight – nine, ten… oh, and dad, this is the funniest part. Everyone laughed so hard when we said this last part – dad, you are going to laugh too. Ok, listen to this… nine, ten, A BIG FAT HEN!”

The hilarity and humor and fun of shouting “A BIG FAT HEN!” at the top of his voice and hearing it echo through the canyon was too much for him. He stopped and laughed and laughed. I did the same.

We spent the next 45 minutes in conversations like this. Every now and then we would catch up to the others and ride with them a while, but for the most part, it was Isaac and I riding along and talking.

At the end of the ride stood a huge, steep hill, that rolled upward and went on and on. We all were together then and set a point about three-quarters of the way up that we dubbed the “stopping point”. There we would turn around and head back to the car. Up we went, slowly, sweating, panting, pushing, pedaling…. but we made it.

Turning around, we faced that long stretch of vertical excitement.

“Ok, guys… ready? Remember, hit the back brakes first if you need to stop or slow down… and be CAREFUL. Ok, ready, set… LET’S GO!!”

Isaac, to my sheer delight, bolted out of the starting gate first and got a jump-start on Esther, Joshua and Jared. I trailed behind watching them fly down the hill. The wind was pushing so hard against our eyes that it squeezed out tears. And our hair – oh, what a mess! And our hearts were beating wildly - half with the sheer thrill and excitement of the ride – half out of fear that the plummeting hill would reach out and drag any one of us down into a careening mass of metal and flesh.

In the end, we all made it down the hill – and down the mountain for that matter – safe and sound. We took away from that canyon the thrills of family time and the joys of exerting ourselves.

But, there were other things we took away. You see, this was just two days after we brought Margie and Sariah home from the hospital. We were out on the trail because Margie needed a break. So I took the children out on a ride.

They learned to ride in the canyon, and that they have a father that loves their mother.

They learned the importance of staying in shape physically, and they learned how to care for a new mother.

They learned how to use their gear bikes, and they learned how to be real men, fathers and daddies.

They learned the thrills of feeling a mighty rush of wind as they race down the trail, and they learned the greater joy – the real thrill of life – in serving others… first, in letting their little brother tag along, and second in serving their mother and new little sister.

A mighty rush of wind… it’s an experience I’d recommend to anyone.

There IS A God, And He DOES Answer Prayers - Part II

Both the doctor and Margie felt that she would be fine being induced.

I had zero reservations also.

Margie had been induced on all but one of our children and each time it went smooth. In fact, the most nerve wracking experience we have had in bringing our then seven children into this world is on the one that was not induced and did not have an epidural. Isaac, our fifth child, was turned sideways and we wondered if we were every going to get him out. The pain was unbelievable and caused Margie to nearly faint on several occasions. So, my apologies to any “all natural” believers out there, but that is just our experience.

At any rate, we felt that being induced would be just fine.

And after 6 hours of sitting in the hospital, everything was fine. The oxytocin was flowing nicely. The epidural had Margie resting comfortably – even taking 20-30 minute naps here and there! We read together, napped together, talked about the other children and really enjoyed the private time we had (minus the occasional nurse that came in to check on us and that ultra aggravating blood pressure cuff that automatically kicked on every 15 minutes… Margie hates that thing!)

At about the seven hour mark, is when things began to get a bit dicey. As the contractions got stronger and closer together, Sariah’s heart rate would drop out the bottom. 135… then drop… 105. Back up to 123… then drop… down to 85. Slowly back up to 118… then drop… 61.

With the sound up on the heart monitor we could hear the tones drastically change from a high-pitched, swishing sound, to a slow, monotonous pulsating sound. With each drop our anxiety grew and my concern for both mother and child knew no bounds.

Over the next 60 minutes they dropped the oxytocin levels, inserted a head fetal monitor, and watched everything very, very carefully. If these kinds of decelerations continued, the only option left on the table was an emergency c-section. Oh, that dreaded word. We thought, with the good news of the placenta moving up and away from the cervix, that we were past worrying about that word. But here we were again. And this time, it was not just a formality to avoid complications with the placenta, it was a life or death emergency situation for the baby.

Now, to understand what happened next, I need to give you a bit of scriptural background. If you believe in miracles and Godly power, then our experience will not be surprising to you at all. However, if you do not believe, then you are likely to be dubious about what I’m about to tell you. So be it.

In ancient days God granted man the power and authority to act in His name and to be protected by or perform miracles with that power. We see things like Moses parting the Red Sea, Daniel walking out of the lions’ den unscathed, Shadrach, Meshach and Abed-nego standing unharmed in the midst of a fiery furnace, and Elijah calling fire down from heaven, blessing the widow’s flour and oil to last throughout the drought, and finally raising her son from the dead.

Likewise, in the New Testament, Christ is seen healing the sick, giving sight to the blind, causing the lame to walk, casting out evil spirits and raising the dead. After His Ascension, the Apostles are found doing similar miracles.

All of these things were done through the power and authority of God. In our day, God has likewise given that power and authority to man. Through his authorized servants, many, many miracles are performed and people around the world are blessed, just like in days of old.

It has been my lot in life to be among those authorized servants, and to receive the power and authority to bless and heal and act in the name of God. And so, in this very scary situation, where the health of my dear wife and the life of my precious, unborn child hung in the balance, I felt no hesitation is giving my wife a special blessing. Together, we prayed – fervently – and then I blessed her.

The effects of that blessing were immediate and real. It was now about 10:40pm. Immediately following the blessing, the nurse came in (not knowing anything about the prayers and the blessing) and turned the oxytocin completely off. By all reason, this should have almost immediately stopped the contractions – and of course that was the point. The decelerations only occurred during a contraction, so they wanted to give Sariah time to recover and get the heart rate back up.

But, in that blessing, Margie was promised that the delivery would go quickly and everything would be just fine. At the time the oxytocin was turned down, Margie was dilated between 4 and 5 centimeters and about 50% effaced. By all accounts and standard measurements of delivery, she had a ways to go.

With the oxytocin off, the nurse left, confident that we could all take a breather. But God had other plans. Within 2 minutes I noticed that Margie’s whole body position and dynamics began to change. She felt little more than some extra pressure because of the epidural, but I could sense something significant was happening. I watched her for 2 more minutes and knew for sure that she had just gone complete and was in full transition. She knew it too.

I quickly went out and got the nurse. Skeptically, she returned and checked Margie… only to discover that the baby was crowning. The doctor was just down the hall and within another 5 minutes, Margie was ready to push. And one solid push was all it took.

The doctor saw a contraction coming on and said, “Ok, Margie, you can push now.” Margie knew that Sariah could not last long in the birth canal and that she needed to get out quickly. During all of our children’s birth, I have been amazed and stood in total wonder at this stage of delivery. A powerful, glorious, eternal fire ignites in Margie’s eyes as the final, great effort of delivery comes. There is an incredible power of creation that comes over her, as she partners with the Creator of all things and breathe life into a helpless baby.

But, this delivery was unlike anything I had ever seen in Margie before. The look on her personage was indescribable. The power consuming her was tangible and made the air around her tingle with intensity. The light that entered her body shone from her face and radiated from her eyes. And it all was focused and channeled into bringing Sariah safely home.

Sariah did come safely home to us. Today, seven days after her delivery, Sariah and Margie are both healthy and strong – in fact, Margie is enjoying her best recovery yet.

My gratitude to God knows no bounds. I have, on many occasions, since that experience, reflected with tearful eyes, on the miracle that I witnessed. And if you had been with me in that hospital room… and seen the light and fire in Margie’s eyes… and felt the charge in the air as God granted life… and held that tiny, precious baby in your arms… then you, like me, would be compelled to exclaim that there is a God, and He does answer prayers.

There IS A God, And He DOES Answer Prayers - Part I

It was one of those things that you really don’t like to hear – didn’t want to hear.

The light in the small room was dimmed so that the ultrasound technician could see the screen better. With Margie lying on her back right next to the machine there was no way she could see the monitor. I guess the doctors got tired of women twisting their neck around to see what was going on, so they mounted a good sized TV on the wall where Margie could see everything the technician was seeing.

As a registered nurse, Margie knew what he was seeing before he handed over the bad news.

Marginal placenta previa.

Since Margie was only in her 20th week, the tech said that there was a good chance the placenta would move up as the baby grew and developed. Still, there was just as likely a chance that it would continue to slide down – which would mandate a c-section… an experience Margie did not want to have. The risks were even higher considering that one of her sisters had the same thing, and it DID move down and she DID have a c-section.

We came home that afternoon and sat all the children down to explain things to them. As a family, through previous experiences we had learned the power of prayer. So, we decided to include a sincere petition in all of our family and meal-time prayers that the Lord would help that slippery placenta move up and not down.

So, over the next 15 weeks adult voices and young voices and tiny little toddler voices rose to heaven eagerly pleading and begging the creator of Heaven and Earth to just help that placenta move up. Some of the children never quite got the name of it right – “Please help the macenas move” or “Please bless the bamestar to go away”.

Well, even if they didn’t get the request right, these 3 and 5 year old boys of ours got spirit of it all right. They love their momma with all their precious little hearts and they really, really wanted her to be healthy and strong and safe.

Most inspiring to me, was the unwavering and consistent faith of all 6 of our children (Mary, our seventh, is still a wee too young to talk, but I’m sure she has great faith too!). In every prayer, in every situation, they ALWAYS remembered to ask God to help their dear momma.

The day of the second ultrasound came and found our family kneeling in the front room with me, once again, lifting my voice to Heavenly Father. Please, please, bless my dear wife and the wonderful mother of these sweet children.

We returned from that visit with hearts lifted and souls satisfied. God had heard our prayers and, at least for the time being, all was well with Margie and the baby – the placenta had moved.

Now, some may say that it was coincidence, it would have moved all on its own. Maybe. But if you had been there and heard those tender voices and heard the love they have for their mother… and if you had been in our home on the day that we returned from the second visit to the ultrasound tech and seen the sublime joy and happiness in their eyes as we told them the placenta had moved… and if you had felt the intense feelings of peace that came over all of us BEFORE we went to the doctor… then, I bet, like us, you would be compelled to acknowledge that there is a God, and He does answer prayers.

There is a wonderful – though scary and nerve wracking – sequel to this story and how Sariah Marjorie Boswell came to our home….