Missing Chicken

My two daughters and son-in-law spent the late morning and early afternoon it town running errands.  We even stopped at the local thrift store to have a bit of fun.  (Oops, now my secret is out.  I just adore thrift stores and yard sales.)

Our restaurant of choice for lunch was our local and brand spanking new Chick-fil-a.  It has only been open for about a week and I have been salivating for some Godly chicken, so off we went.  The place was alive with business.  Hustle and bustle behind the counter, orders being taken, money being exchanged.  You get the picture.  Thankfully the humidity in our little Florida town was low and it was somewhat overcast because sitting inside the building was practically out of the question, so after placing our order, and exchanging that hard to come by currency, we took our food and headed to the outside tables.  Finally, my little box of chicken tenders sat before me.  I munched down on one of the holy grail of fries and then proceeded to open that tiny paper box of chicken heaven. Gazing down inside I could not help but smile. The browned, yet never hard coating enticed me that the succulent all white meat would cure my tummy of its rum-belies in the near future.   We offered up a prayer of thanksgiving to the Heavenly Father for blessing us with this bounty.  I had to pray aloud because I consumed a waffle fry before Grace was said.  (Family rule)

Once the Amen was said, I dove right in.  Hey, wait for a second!  I am supposed to have three tenders here!  I had two and a fourth.  I was sad.  My perfect lunch hopes were doused in that millisecond. I was shortchanged.  I had missing chicken.

Now there were three ways to handle this: 1) Do nothing and eat what I had. (This was not my choice.) 2) Take that little box up there and sternly ask them what their deal was and why they could not do their job right. (A choice that I considered momentarily.) 3)  Take the chicken back and explain my weird, yet slightly frustrating, issue and ask for a correction.  So, I opted for the last while both my daughters yelled something to the effect, “Please be nice.”

I arrived at the counter and was greeted with a smile. Quick as a whistle, I had two new freshly cooked strips given to me for my trouble. When I said then you, the response was a genuine, “My pleasure.”   (I know they are supposed to say that but it is awesome when it is sincere.)  Chicken fiasco adverted.


So, I was thinking about my missing chicken and my choices of ways to solve my issue. Mind you with severe anxiety as I have it becomes really easy to give in to my emotions and just lose it, never the less, I work really hard on thinking before acting.  I wonder sometimes if God just shakes His head at our choices of action.  We complain, we yell at Him, we sometimes try and tell Him how he is doing His job all wrong.  My granny used to say “Spittin, sputtering and complaining won’t get you very far with God.”  Truth!   We should bring to God our cares and our worries and just show Him our issue. He will then answer, “My pleasure,” and give you exactly what you need.

You should be sure to read Chick-fil-A Sauce.    You will be glad you did!

The Photo above does not belong to me and is only being used for the purpose of illustration.  No copyright infringement is intended.




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