The Chickens and the Baboons

Once in a far away village on a farm there lived a group of chickens. Now these chickens were not like what you'd expect from normal farm chickens. They were extremely close to one another and each chicken even cared about the concerns of the chicken next to him. Together these chickens lived on a farm that was owned by the Smith family. At least that's how it was now. Some older chickens in the group remembered the time before they had been caught and put into chicken-runs - a time when they still roamed wild on the land before it became a farm. These older chickens would enjoy spending each morning telling the young chicks of the failure of the chicken-runs. They would show the youngsters the spurs on their feet and tell of the time those spurs had dug and scratched at human flesh. The old chickens would chuckle to themselves before suddenly becoming miserable again and stalking off into another side of the property.

Now the chickens were experiencing the hardest of times. After the failure of the chicken-runs, the Smith family had announced a drought on the farm even though it had been raining solidly the past few weeks. The Smiths told the chickens that due to the drought there would no longer be any feed for chickens since the family needed it all. Thus the chickens had to spend all day scratching for food if they were going to survive. And so they did, scratching all morning and scratching all afternoon, resting only in the evening upon which time they would sullenly eat their meagre earnings and slump over to sleep exhausted.

Life continued like this for the chickens for what seemed an eternity. One day the chickens came out to scratch for food in the morning as they had always done. With surprise they had emerged from the bushes that sheltered them during the night to find that the Smith family's granary had been breached and all the grain of the year thus far had spilled on the ground, covering almost all of the compound. The Smith father cursed and cursed at his ill fortune, shaking his fist at the heavens. His wife stood beside him, shaking her head in slow astonishment. The two youngest children thought merry of the incident and had just taken to diving onto the heap of grain and throwing it at one another when the father flashed them a look and in the same instant loosed his belt and lashed at them wildly. During the ensuing fracas behind the compound, the chickens looked from one to another of their number, unable to determine whether the mastermind of this scheme was to be found in their ranks. Timidly, they approached the pile of grain until it was quite clear that the farmer was preoccupied dealing with his wayward offspring.

That night the chickens slept heartily, each unable to believe his and her good fortune. The silence of the night was abruptly disturbed by a rustling of leaves near where the chickens lay, however, and in horror they watched as a figure approached them from the dark.
"Do not be afraid," a deep voice said.
"I am the head of the baboons. I am the one responsible for your good fortune today. My troop and I have had score after score to settle with the Smiths and with Mr Smith in particular. You can continue to enjoy the fruits of our fray if you do us but one kindness."
The baboon went on to say that he and his troops would not be able to continue their onslaught on the Smith family with the approaching winter air. As their fur was insufficient to keep out the cold all through the night, the baboon proposed that all the chickens lend the baboons their feathers during the night so as to keep warm enough to plunder the farm well into dawn. In return for their offering, the baboons would continue to provide grain from the farmer’s stores and the chickens would scratch for food no further. The chickens agreed to this and that very night they surrendered their feathers to the baboons who promised to return them before sunrise, when the heat of the sun would be unrelenting on the smooth sensitive skin of an unfeathered chicken.

That night the chickens slept fitfully, uncomfortable out of their feathers. The next morning however, next to the bushes where they lay were piled mounds and mounds of grain. The baboons had kept their word and although the farmer had patched his granary, the baboons still found ways to steal from his stores and provide grain to the chickens. Next to the mounds of grain were the perfectly pressed feathers each chicken had given and with joy they put them on before emerging from the bush to greet the day. Now that the baboons could stay out in the cold all night, their assault on the Smith family was without mercy. It was not long before the Smiths could not eat, sleep, or carry on any other business without harassment from the baboons. In time, the family convinced Mr Smith that theirs was a cursed land and they should leave immediately. And so it was that on a sunny day the chickens watched the Smith family pack up their belongings and leave for the nearest town. Smith Farm had ceased to exist.

It did not take long for the baboons to move into Smith Manor. The leader of the baboons had convinced the chickens that the house would need to be inhabited and that everyone - chicken and baboon alike would need to continue farming to ensure that everyone was fed. But the chickens did not know how to farm, and the baboons knew this. The baboons told the chickens that farming was a lot like scratching for food except that they had to do it in the fields which were designated Scratch-Farm zones. The baboons told the chickens that if they scratched right, they would be able to harvest food to eat even as they were still in the field. In addition after every farm day, the field would harvest itself and leave mounds of food for the chickens to eat. The chickens were ecstatic to learn of the farming process and easily gave up their feathers, which they were told would be necessary so that the baboons could check on the day's farming activities throughout the night. Every morning fewer and fewer feathers were returned and the mounds of food brought by the field were smaller and smaller with each day. The chickens began to change colour in the sun and to give off an odour. Many of them simply collapsed in the soil of the fields from a mixture of starvation and exposure. The chickens inquired as to the short feather returns at the end of each night but the baboons attributed this to the fact that spring was coming and the spring air may have been carrying away the feathers at dawn when they were returned. Those chickens initially suspicious of the baboons had their fears allayed when the baboons were quick to respond by getting medical attention for any distressed chicken. Staffs of baboon doctors were on-hand to whisk away any exhausted or over-exposed chicken. The chickens slept well through the night knowing that their comrades were receiving the best of medical treatment.

Over time, only a handful of chickens were left and these were barely alive, tilling away lethargically with their feet in the soil of the fields. The baboons had taken to inspecting the farming during the day now, and as the day wore on, there was no immediate harvest to be had from the scratching and one by one the few chickens left collapsed. The baboons rushed in but none of them wore coats. None in their number had a stretcher with them and there were no sirens from the ambulance this time. One chicken breathing his last breath opened his eyes long enough to see a baboon pick up his friend and toss him into his mouth whole. Too tired even to gasp, the chicken blinked slowly as understanding washed over him. The baboons fought with one another as they tore limbs from the other chickens off the ground. They brought the pieces up to their mouths, pausing only to sniff the aroma of the chicken's fallen comrades before throwing the tan pieces of flesh into their mouths whole. The chicken began to cry as he heard the bones of his clan crushed between the huge jaws of the baboons - bones that had been made soft by the heat of the sun and muscles that had been made succulent from the scratching for food. As the head of the baboons picked up the chicken on his last breath, he gathered all the remaining strength into his voice and asked the baboon,
"Why, why have done this thing to us." To which the baboon responded.
"We like meat; we have always liked meat - especially your kind. We are omnivores, you see. That's just the way we are."

Found!

Many times I am struck at what a good teacher Jesus was. His testament came to us in ways not only that we needed, but ways that we could all understand on a very palpable fundamental level. Recent events have led to me to recall the parable of the lost coin. My Sunday School lessons are kind of shadowy in my mind right now, but if I recall correctly that was the parable in which Jesus likens the joy of the Lord at having a prodigal return to His truth as that of a bride (or soon to be bride) who finds, after a lot of effort, the missing coin for her bridal head-dress. As a tangent, I only now realise that I am recalling this story for people who already know more about the Bible, Jesus and Christian theology as a whole more than I do, so how very embarrassing. If I have butchered this, you can crucify me later.

Anyway. I thought about Jesus' ability to express and share God's comfort in this way for a long time throughout all of last week. You see, something very dear to me - very dear period, in fact - was missing. For the past week I had searched in vain for my IPod. On the day I first discovered it missing, I had realised that even though it was a Friday, that whole weekend there was going to be something nagging at the back of my conscience. As it turned out, the weekend was a lot worse than I had anticipated, due to the fact that I had also managed to misplace my phone. See previous blog. I found my phone at the end of that weekend, but as I faced the beginning of the week with some estimated 250 miles to drive for work that coming Monday, I realised that it was going to be a terrible time without Helene. That's my IPod. You see, she has been such a comfort to me on those long drives. She is never annoying since I change things round constantly with her to ensure that our relationship is as fresh as the first time we entertained one another. She always lasts just as long as I need her to, and she totally doesn't mind if I yell and scream at her so long as I assure myself that I'm still in tune. As I spent all of the week looking and re-looking everywhere - my car, my room, my living room, the kitchen cupboards, behind the toilet, et cetera, I thought about how comforted that Bride (or bride-to-be) felt when she had found her missing coin. I was struck how, like every other record of his exploits in the Bible, Jesus knew what he was talking about. If God feels magnanimously worse about lost souls than I did about Helene, then we have a crisis in the world that we as Christians have to fix, people. Not that we do not know this already, of course. Anyway, I ramble. While I was searching all I could do was something I am sure I am not divided from others in doing when they are faced with searching for any ellusive trinket - I imagined quite vividly the moment of my finding Helene - closing my warm fingers around her cold and rubbery (the cover) exterior, caressing her dial clockwise then anti-clockwise to see if she was as happy to see me as I was to see her, and then continuing with the rest of my life which seemed at a standstill. Alas, however, for all of last week my fantasy was doomed to be simply that.

....Until this past Sunday. Providence is a mother as generously intuitive to our needs as all mothers. A friend who we all hadn't seen in a while came over for a rather spontaneously unannounced visit. This same friend also worked for the college theatre which quite fortuitously is housed where the Martin Players rehearse and will perform William Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing and where I had forgotten my journey had taken me that fateful Thursday night two weeks ago when I had last remembered being with Helene. Nevertheless, my friend and I got to talking and exchanging our woe-stories the way all college graduates do and while she was talking about living somewhere new with a boyfriend we as her friends know precariously little about, I cut her off with my woeode (woeful ode) to the ill-fated Helene. She then went on to talk about some "IPod thingy" that was in the lost and found bin at the theatre. Unbelievable. I actually kissed her. First time. Not on the lips though, since I promised her and her ex-boyfriend, my roommate, that as their friend they would never have to worry about that. Within minutes Helene was back with me, beaming at me with her brilliant selection of such tasteful treats as "1973" from James Blunt's new album. Oh happy day.

Fast forward to tonight (this morning) and I couldn't be more at peace. Sure life goes on as it always does but everything seems in its proper place. The latter part of the last sentence is probably as close to heaven as some believe I will get, since I haven't been to church in a while, but I can't help but feel this IPod incident has taught me a very invaluable albeit microcosmic lesson of what our Lord deals with constantly. I promise anew to not be part of that chagrin. Lord, this is one IPod you won't have to worry about. Though my battery may need recharging, I will not get lost.