Chipped Rooster Dishes and Rules for Fine Dining

We’re rooster people–we have them all over our house. It’s who we are. My husband raises chickens in the backyard. I’ve written about it here. I even have a set of rooster dishes.

But last week before our Small Group meeting, I decided to use my wedding china.

Because some of my rooster dishes are chipped.

Of course, there’s nothing wrong with using wedding china, but I wanted to impress people.

And chipped rooster dishes aren’t very impressive.

At the grocery store, I thought about buying long-stem pink roses as a centerpiece for my wedding china. This tiny voice inside said,

Be who you are. Use your chipped rooster dishes.

I pictured all the roosters in my house. It’d be hard to hide them. They’re everywhere.

My Small Group would be greeted by one on the front porch–

One on the old church pew–

The wind chimes by the back door–

All over the kitchen–

At the entry from the den to the kitchen–

In the guest bathroom–

Along the floors–

In the upstairs bedroom–

By the front window–

Then I remembered my favorite picture. We’ve had it for years.

It still stirs my heart.

In the painting, the morning sun is streaming through the window. The woman is gathering eggs. Maybe she’s praying about the day ahead.

She looks so content.

I put the long-stem pink roses down.

Decided to use my rooster dishes.

It felt like the right thing to do.

What about a centerpiece?  

What goes with chipped rooster dishes?

Be who you are. 

I remembered a tin rooster cock-a-doodle-dooing on the kitchen counter.

Back at home, I set the table.

Right before everyone arrived, I lit the red candles.

I stood there looking, surprised by joy.

Oh, the contentment of using our chipped dishes–

And letting God use us–

Just as we are. 

Thoughts?

Do you have something imperfect you love dearly?

Are you a rooster person too?

What do you collect?

Love,

Julie

 

 

Me and Chicken Little

Sometimes I’m just like Chicken Little, the annoying little chicken who ran around saying, “The sky is falling! The sky is falling!”

Watch the first few seconds, and you’ll understand.

I tend to expect the worst. A phone call from an unknown number might mean a family member’s gone to jail. An official-looking envelope could be alerting us we’re the victims of identify theft.

You just never know.

The other day our son Thomas said, “Bye, I’m going to Brittany’s.”

An hour later Brittany, his girlfriend, called–crying so hard she couldn’t talk. My heart flip-flopped.”Brittany? Honey? What’s the matter?”

No words. Only muffled sounds.

I chewed my lip and paced the den. “What is it? Say something. Are y’all okay?”

“Miss Julie, Thomas wanted me to call you…”

Why can’t he can’t talk? I assembled the clues and came up with the most likely scenario. There’s been a wreck. The ambulance  is probably on the way.

The sky is falling!

Then I realized Brittany wasn’t crying.

She was laughing. “Thomas says to tell you we’re coming over. He’s rescued a rooster.”

I imagined my son’s midsection bleeding from wrestling a wild chicken. “Did it spur him? Roosters can be–”

“Oh, no ma’am. He’s fine. We’ll be there in five minutes.”

Here’s the rescue squad. We welcomed Ernie, a fine-looking Rhode Island Red, to his new home.

The truth is, I have received heart-stopping phone calls from my teenagers (middle of the night calls are the worst!), and discovered scary letters in the mailbox, and a couple of family members have done jail time.

But Chicken Little was wrong that day. The sky wasn’t falling.

So early this morning, as Ernie crowed, I resolved to change.

Whatever comes my way, I’m going to smile, expecting only the best.

Love,

Julie–Chicken Little no more!