Chicken With It's Head Cut Off

My Mother was a mere 5'2 or so but she was a mighty woman in more ways than one. If you read my post about church camp and her counselor experience with some teenage girls, you will know that she was kind, but firm and had a grip on things.

My Mother also had a grip on other things. Take for instance when the day rolled around that she decided fried chicken would be our supper. My Mother didn't run to the store and buy a chicken that was all dressed out, my Mother killed a chicken then undressed that old, Mrs. Hen a handful of feathers at a time.

I remember the first time I observed how a chicken got from the coop to the table. I couldn't have been more than five years old. Mother went to the chicken coop; chose one of the nicest hens there and carried Mrs. Hen to the middle of our big back yard. With Mrs. Hen squalking as loudly as she could, Mother tucked Mrs. Hen's backside under her left arm; quickly grabbed Mrs. Hen's neck; released Mrs. Hen's body and began to swing. There Mother stood with her left hand on her hip and with her right hand, she swung Mrs. Hen around and around as hard as she could. After about a dozen swings, Mother brought Mrs. Hen down toward the ground and with all the force she could muster, Mother popped Mrs. Hen's head right off her body! I couldn't believe my eyes ! Poor headless Mrs. Hen jumped up and began to run around the yard in dizzying circles. As Mrs. Hen headed my way, I screamed; ran around the corner of our smoke house; grabbed the back porch screen door and raced inside as fast as I could.

I suppose Mrs. Hen finally gave up and fell over because when I went outside to see if my Mother was okay, Mrs. Hen was hanging upside down from the clothesline via a cord tied around her feet and Mother was plucking the feathers off Mrs. Hen.

Mother fried Mrs. Hen for our supper. She had all the trimmings; mashed potatoes, gravy and corn on the cob. It really did smell wonderful but I asked Mother if it would be okay if I just had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

I still wonder why my dear, sweet , kind Mother allowed me to witness that slaughter. But, back in those days, that wasn't considered bad; it was considered providing food for the table. It was a fact of life. And, it didn't scar me for life because I can eat chicken with the best of 'em now.
How many of us are like Mrs. Hen? We run around day after day like a chicken with it's head cut off. We have so many things to accomplish yet we seem unable to get the things done we feel we need to do. How many of those things are necessary? How many of those things are truly satisfying? How many of those things will really matter 10 or 20 years or even 50 years from now? How many of those things will matter in Eternity?

"These are the words of the Teacher, King David’s son, who ruled in Jerusalem.
'Everything is meaningless,” says the Teacher, “completely meaningless!' What do people get for all their hard work under the sun? Generations come and generations go, but the earth never changes. The sun rises and the sun sets, then hurries around to rise again. The wind blows south, and then turns north. Around and around it goes, blowing in circles. Rivers run into the sea, but the sea is never full. Then the water returns again to the rivers and flows out again to the sea. Everything is wearisome beyond description. No matter how much we see, we are never satisfied. No matter how much we hear, we are not content." Ecclesiastes 1:1-8 NLT