The bird twittered and fussed as he pushed and pulled on the big, new easy chair maneuvering it into the exact sport he wanted in front of his big-screen television. He wanted to see the programs perfectly over BBC (Bird Broadcasting Company).
Back in the closet waited the latest worm catching devices. He had laid aside tens of thousands of worms in the freezer plus an interesting assortment of frozen grasshoppers, crickets, and butterflies. He had plenty to eat for the long haul.
He constantly made tiny improvements on his nest—in fact that was about all he did other than watch television and fish for worms.
Let the younger birds fight for the insects. Let them feed the young and keep watch for hawks. He’d done his part. He was tired. The old feathers were dusty. Plus he just didn’t feel like the younger birds thought he could do it anymore.
Yet, at times as he yawned before his television, zapping from one channel to the next, he couldn’t help think, “This is for the birds! There’s got to be more to life than this.” He looked around and saw needs and felt like he should get involved but … oouf! Today, he was going to try out his new worm bait.
And the wife wanted him to change the wallpaper in the spare bedroom. That one had plastered the wall for two years now. And then? Humph, he guessed he’d watch, “As the Birds Twitter,” on TV that afternoon and “Saving Sergeant Redbird” was on that night.
Feathering the Nest
The young man or woman has a tendency to think he can’t do it because he’s never done it and he might fail. The old man has done it but he’s not sure if he wants to do it anymore. Or he never was able to do it, so he’s just given up and accepted life like it is.
That old nest sure is attractive. Nestle down into that easy chair with a good cup of coffee, turn your brain off and let life go on without you.
I’m not especially talking about retirement. A lot of people work forty hours a week, but spiritually and emotionally they’ve hunkered down in an easy chair.
Those possessed by fear shrink towards security. That armchair is out of the wind and rain. No danger. The problem is that the biggest part of life for the Lord, if we accomplish anything anyway, exposes us to the elements. Storms strike us. You do nothing spiritually unless there’s a need for faith somewhere. Otherwise, you’re just doing what you can do—not what you and God can do.
Those obsessed by laziness and self-indulgence relax into comfort. Tweak the nest … latest gadgets for happiness… etc. It’s sure the will of God isn’t comfortable and it will cost you something. But can’t I retreat to the nest after a life of battle?
If all you desire is to munch worms, avoid problems, and enjoy yourself I guess you can. That’s what life is all about isn’t it? Isn’t it?
Lack of confidence pushes us into hiding. “I’m not sure I can do it” then later, “I don’t know if I can do it anymore.” So … easy chair here I come.
You know, I’ve been bothered by the fact that David killed a giant when he was perhaps 17 years old, but was almost killed by a giant himself when he was an old man (2 Kings 21:15-17). Fortunately, he had inspired a generation of giant killers and one of them came to his aide and toppled the monster.
But if David could trust God to help him be successful when he was a teenager, why couldn’t he trust Him when he had his AARP card in his back pocket?
God made us to function at our best when we’re doing his will, killing giants and taking mountains, not when we’re vegetating through the fourteenth rerun of Andy of Mayberry (good show by the way).
Eight-five year old Caleb saw the fire of his eyes reflected in Joshua’s eyes when he boldly challenged, “Give me this mountain!” Probably the others around him said, “Yeah, let him have it. It’s full of giants.”
Caleb knew the secret, though. The old fellow never got comfortable in his easy chair, but the giants never got comfortable when he was around either.
My dad was like that. He kept busy for the Lord right up until his death at the age of 77. He visited people and encouraged them and invited them to church each week. He had a nursing home service each Sunday morning for about 14 years, up until two or three weeks of his death.
And yes, he was a bit slower and had to rest a bit more. He did quite a bit of snoring in his easy chair and he enjoyed life; but he never left the battle.
Someone remarked at his funeral, “If you looked up the word, “faithful”, in the dictionary, Francis Porter’s picture would be next to the definition. That’s probably why the church was full for the Tuesday afternoon burial of an old man who was no one special to most people.
His easy chair time was balanced with battle time right up until the end.
Is your chair worn out, or is it your sword that’s getting worn?
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Hummm…
“We’re not going to win the lost talking about the glories of yesterday. Let’s write a story these next few years that will cause the old timers in future times to talk about us!”
