I was determined to leave resistance at home and serve with a new level of grace. I was willing to be called and chosen, shaken and stirred, in whatever way would be most helpful.
That’s why on Saturday morning, when I was summoned to help prepare a feast for 50-plus people, I said “yes.” I went to the kitchen, found a sharp knife, and stood before a mountain of broccoli. It was mine. I was going to scale it like a German Tank. I would conquer the broccoli and have something to show for my effort. Tangible results. Evidence.
I picked up broccoli stalk number one and cut it into bite-sized florets. I peeled the woody stalk like Nikki taught me.
Why would three grown-up professional women dress like chickens and ride rented bicycles on a rainy day in Davis California?
Two of my sisters (Judy and Carol) and I recently participated in the Tour de Cluck, an annual bike tour of backyard chicken coops. It’s for charity. Each biker-chick pays an entry fee that supports a farm to school program. School lunches, gardens, and recycling programs flourish because people like us, born to be wild, pay to bike-waddle from coop to coop.
I didn’t expect the Rose Bowl Parade. I thought in terms of Gay Pride – hundreds of costumed well-intentioned citizens for a worthy cause. The Tour de Cluck was smaller than Gay Pride. Plus I counted only four people dressed as chickens – my sisters, me, and one other dedicated soul.
It was totally worth it. I would do it again.
My friend Brock talks about “the dearness of things” and the Tour de Cluck allowed me to hover in “Dearness.”