GETTY IMAGES Fiction by CHRIS FABRY OLD MY CALLS,” Pastor Brooks said to Julie Simpson, the church secretary, chief operating officer, and general get-things-done person. “If you say so,” she said, her brow furrowed. Pastor Brooks showed Tommy and the chicken to his office and closed the door. Tommy’s father, Lester, had set up this appointment, and Pastor Brooks thought it might be about the upcoming mission trip. Tommy was 12, too young to go, but he was tall for his age. He had a way of shepherding the small children during Sunday School. A born leader, his father had said, and Pastor Brooks agreed. “Who’s your friend?” “is is Praise,” Tommy said, stroking the chicken’s head and back. e animal was peaceful and calm in the boy’s lap, making soft clucking sounds, its head darting left and right. “And how did he — I mean, she — get that name?” Pastor Brooks hadn’t grown up in farm country, but he had tried valiantly to understand the agrarian mindset. ings went at a slower pace here. He had grown accustomed to the people and their ways. “I name all my chickens biblical names. Ruth and Naomi and Miriam. My roosters are Moses and Aaron. I’ve got several I named for the fruit of the Spirit, but a weasel got Kindness last week.” “I’ve seen weasels do that to kindness too,” he said, trying not to smile. “I named her Praise because it fits her. All she does is lay eggs and go about her business; and anytime I come out to the coop or the pasture, she walks up and eventually flies into my arms. You want to hold her?” “No, thank you. I’m enjoying watching you hold her.” Tommy continued to stroke the chicken, but his face tightened. “So, why did you want to meet with me today? Your dad sounded like it was important.” Tommy leaned forward. “e message on Sunday … you talked about how God gave us His best when He gave us Jesus. He didn’t hold back. And He wants us to do the same. Surrender. Give like He did.” “I wish everyone in church listened as carefully as you, Tommy.” “Well, it kindly struck a chord with me. And it seems to me that it doesn’t matter how old you are. When God gets hold of your heart, you just follow Him and do what He says.” Pastor Brooks nodded and thought better of interrupting the boy with Paul’s injunction to Timothy about not letting anyone look down on his youth. “Go on.” “Well, I’ve been thinking about letting God take over my life. I walked the aisle last year and gave Mature Living / april 2017 35 34 Mature Living / april 2017
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Fiction
by CHRIS FABRY
OLD MY CALLS,” Pastor Brooks said to Julie Simpson, the church secretary, chief operating officer, and general get-things-done person.
“If you say so,” she said, her brow furrowed.Pastor Brooks showed Tommy and the chicken
to his office and closed the door. Tommy’s father, Lester, had set up this appointment, and Pastor Brooks thought it might be about the upcoming mission trip. Tommy was 12, too young to go, but he was tall for his age. He had a way of shepherding the small children during Sunday School. A born leader, his father had said, and Pastor Brooks agreed.
“Who’s your friend?” “This is Praise,” Tommy said, stroking the
chicken’s head and back. The animal was peaceful and calm in the boy’s lap, making soft clucking sounds, its head darting left and right.
“And how did he — I mean, she — get that name?”Pastor Brooks hadn’t grown up in farm country,
but he had tried valiantly to understand the agrarian mindset. Things went at a slower pace here. He had grown accustomed to the people and their ways.
“I name all my chickens biblical names. Ruth and Naomi and Miriam. My roosters are Moses and Aaron. I’ve got several I named for the fruit of the Spirit, but a weasel got Kindness last week.”
“I’ve seen weasels do that to kindness too,” he said, trying not to smile.
“I named her Praise because it fits her. All she does is lay eggs and go about her business; and anytime I come out to the coop or the pasture, she walks up and eventually flies into my arms. You want to hold her?”
“No, thank you. I’m enjoying watching you hold her.”
Tommy continued to stroke the chicken, but his face tightened.
“So, why did you want to meet with me today? Your dad sounded like it was important.”
Tommy leaned forward. “The message on Sunday … you talked about how God gave us His best when He gave us Jesus. He didn’t hold back. And He wants us to do the same. Surrender. Give like He did.”
“I wish everyone in church listened as carefully as you, Tommy.”
“Well, it kindly struck a chord with me. And it seems to me that it doesn’t matter how old you are. When God gets hold of your heart, you just follow Him and do what He says.”
Pastor Brooks nodded and thought better of interrupting the boy with Paul’s injunction to Timothy about not letting anyone look down on his youth. “Go on.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about letting God take over my life. I walked the aisle last year and gave
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my heart to Jesus. Asked Him to forgive me and change me. God’s been working on my heart about giving Him my best. And I want you to have her.”
“Have who?”“Praise.”Pastor Brooks stared at the boy. “I don’t
understand.”“The church picnic this Sunday. I want you to
give her to the ladies who are making the fried chicken. I don’t have money to put in the plate, and it’s vexing me. And I figured this is how I can show God I want to give Him my best.”
Pastor Brooks nearly answered too quickly. He almost thwarted the boy’s tender heart by telling him they couldn’t take his beloved chicken and fry it like it was fresh from the meat department at Kroger. Instead, he took a breath and leaned back in his squeaky swivel chair.
“So, you’ve thought this one through carefully?”“Yes sir, I have. I remember the Old Testament
story about the Passover lamb. They brought it into the family from what I remember you saying, and when they killed it and sprinkled the blood, it showed what a price their sin cost. So, I’m thinking this is my way of thanking God for His forgiveness and His provision. He gave me a good chicken to raise, and it’s the least I can do.”
“But this is your favorite, isn’t it?”“Yes sir. She’s the best.”All the days of seminary and study could
not prepare him for this moment. And Pastor Brooks felt all the days following would be marked by it. The scene in his office showed how powerful God’s Spirit is and the effect of teaching God’s Word. Pastor Brooks wasn’t just dealing with texts and concepts and Hebrew and Greek; he was dealing with tender souls — real flesh-and-blood people who wanted to please God with every heartbeat and who struggled to figure out what that looked like from day to day.
He stared at Tommy, praying for wisdom. When nothing came, he said, “Maybe I should hold your chicken, Tommy.”
The boy rose and brought the bird behind the desk and placed it in the pastor’s lap. It flapped its wings once and then settled as the pastor stroked the soft feathers.
“She likes it when you kindly scratch her back,” Tommy said. “Yeah, like that.”
It wasn’t until he held the chicken that Pastor Brooks came up with an answer to his conun-drum. If he allowed Tommy to give his freewill offering, the world would be a little colder and less kind. But if he thwarted the young man,
what might this signal to an open heart? Death was part of life here in the country. If you didn’t harvest, you didn’t eat.
“Tommy, you under-stand that because
Jesus fulfilled the law, we don’t have to sacrifice animals. God’s grace covers us.”
“Yes sir. I understand He was the perfect sacri-fice for us, and we don’t have to do that.”
“But you’re offering Praise here as a gift back to God in thanks for His goodness. So, I appreciate your heart. But I have a question.”
Tommy sat up straight. “All right. I’m ready for it.”“Sometimes, the best offering you can give is
one you have to keep giving.”“Is that a question?”“No, I’m getting to it. Sometimes the hardest
offering is the one you do every day with what you have.”
“If I did that, I wouldn’t have any chickens left.”Pastor Brooks smiled. “I’m asking if you’re
ready to give an offering that you have to keep giving. Could you make that kind of an offering?”
“I don’t think I understand your meaning.”“Praise will feed a couple of people one meal,
right?”“Yes sir.”
“But Praise was designed to lay eggs. So, what if instead of taking her life, you let her live, and you give her eggs to the Lord as a thank you?”
Tommy’s face twisted in thought. “So, you don’t think the Lord wants me to give Praise for the dinner?”
“I think the Lord sees your heart and that you’re willing to lay down anything for Him. That’s what I think. And as I see it, the Lord
is just as pleased with an omelet as He is a drumstick. Does that make sense?”
The look on Tommy’s face would stay with Pastor Brooks for a lifetime. It was a mixture of sheer relief and thanksgiving. The boy stood and collected his chicken under one arm and hugged the pastor tightly with the other.
“Thank you, Pastor.”Tommy’s father reported later that he had seen
Tommy running toward the farm with Praise held high over his head and tears streaming down his cheeks. When he had caught his breath, he said, “I can praise God with her eggs, Daddy.”
That Sunday at the potluck, Pastor Brooks blessed the food and the hands that had prepared
it. But he was thinking about the chicken and the boy who had given him a new vision
of daily surrender. Each day was a gift on the altar to be offered
without reserve.When he tasted the deviled
eggs from the Caldwell farm, he couldn’t help smiling.
CHRIS FABRY is the author of more than 70 books and hosts Chris Fabry Live on Moody Radio. His novels have won three Christy Awards and an ECPA Christian Book Award for Fiction. He wrote the novelization of War Room, which became a best-seller. His new novel, Looking Into You, released in January exclusively on e-book. Find
him at ChrisFabry.com.
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