feeding, at night, in the barn

What if someone is hiding in the barn, and he jumps out to scare me, just after I switch on the light? Or he jumps out to get me just before I switch on the light?



I look over my shoulder as I swing open the top half of the old wooden barn door, lift up the bottom half with my left arm, and pull the rusty latch with my right hand. I begin to sing as I reach into the barn with my left hand, searching the wall for the light switch before putting my whole body into darkness.



Jesus, Jesus, how I love Thee. How I've proved Thee o'er and o'er.



My finger flips the switch and a lone light bulb flickers on, swinging from the cobwebbed boards above. A cat jumps from a stack of old beehives through a hole in the ceiling to the loft above. Another cat jumps down from somewhere and rubs my ankle with her whiskered face. I reach down to pet her, continuing my song.



Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus...



I take large steps, one over the hay-filled gap between the cement slabs, and another over the empty wooden door frame. I have to make it to the next switch to illuminate the vast, gloomy barn. I reach around the wooden support pillar, and the cat attacks my heels. I jump. I gasp. The cat hisses and the rest of the barn comes alive as two other light bulbs spark and flicker.



Oh, for grace to trust Him more.



A rush of sparrows shake the rafters as they fly out into the night through the great open window in the main middle lodge of the barn, where the hay towers to the ceiling. I hear the stamp of a hoof against the cement in the stall beyond the hay stack. I grab a pair of gleaming hay hooks hanging on the post and wade through the loose hay on the barn floor. I thrust one hook into one side of a bale, and I thrust the other hook into the bale's other side. Supporting the hay bale with my thigh, I carry it to the trough lining the horses' stall.



"Hhhuuhhhppppf," Sugar sighs and pricks her ears forward. Spice switches her tail and swings her head to her left, her yellow teeth working at an itch on her flank. They shake their blonde Belgian manes and clip clop, clip clop to the trough as I drop in their dinner. The sweet hay dust clouds up into my face and I sneeze twice. Outside, the metal fences clink and clang above the low moans of the cows.



This time I buck two bales into a wheelbarrow. I wheel the hay outside, in between the rows of anxious black & white Whiteface cattle. With a pocketknife, I cut the orange string binding the hay, and I spread the hay in flakes along the two troughs. The wet, pink noses thrust through the fences and chomp, the golden straws falling from their masticating mouths.



I shut and latch the door behind me, only to open it again, looking out into the dark to make sure I locked the fence. I'm sure, and I walk across the barn, a troop of meowing cats following from a safe distance. I hear something near the door. I sing.



'Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus...



Chewy, our happy mutt, barrels through the doorway. Panting, a smile on his face, he jumps up with his paws in the air. I catch his paws and we dance.



and to take Him at His word. Just to rest upon His promise.



We collapse into the hay, my laughter echoing and gathering in the high, dark rafters of the great barn. I walk outside to the milk house, take the lock off the latch and dig around the bottom of the garbage can with an empty plastic butter tub for the last of the cat food. The cats knock over boxes and leap over walls and pull down tarps as I enter the barn with the food. I have to gently kick Chewy aside as I unlatch the cat door and try to keep him out. I listen as the dry little cross-shaped pieces pile into a small mountain in the cat dish. A dozen cats fight, hiss, and "RAERE!" their way into the bowl. I shut the door behind me, give Chewy a pet, switch off the main lights, and skip quickly over the wooden door frame and the gap between the cement slabs.



Just to know, "Thus saith the Lord."



I quickly look back over my shoulder, switch off the light bulb, and slam both halves of the old wooden door shut with my body. I lean against the door and stare up into the clear night sky. A bat swoops into the cherry tree. Chewy pants and smiles at my knees. I latch and lock the door. Chewy gives a low woof, and I leap into the dark, racing him back to the house, under the cherry tree, under the bats, under the stars, following the lights in the windows.

Today's Menu: Football with a Side of Sex

A Superbowl commercial for Doritos:

A young male walks down the street with an orange triangle of MSG in his fingers. He spots a beautiful woman in a green dress, looks at his chip and takes a bite. The woman's dress flies off and she gives a little exclamation of surprise as the cheesy-fingered male checks out her black lingerie.
Cheesy fingers walks past an ATM, looks at his chip and takes a bite. The ATM blows out money all over the street and a crowd of people rush forward to take what they can grab.
Discovering a police officer nearby, cheesy fingers takes one more bite from his transfatty triangle. The officer beneath the uniform disappears, the uniform collpases to the pavement, and a monkey peeks out of the shirt.
The skinny young male smiles at the work he has accomplished by eating Doritos.

Americans: gluttons, lechers, misers, anarchists. What a great message.