For the Birds

We are 19 days into our 40 day countdown to the elections.  Just a reminder, tonight is the second presidential debate.

(image taken from Yahoo images)

 If Benjamin Franklin would have had his way, our national bird would have been the turkey we gobble up at Thanksgiving. “After the bald eagle won the honor instead, Franklin wrote to his daughter that the turkey was “more respectable” than the eagle, which he thought was “of bad moral character.” Franklin expressed admiration for the pugnacious way barnyard turkeys defended their territory, a trait he liked in Americans, too. It's not clear, however, whether Franklin knew much about wild turkeys, which ran and hid from intruders instead of defending their turf. Indeed, some Apache Indians thought turkeys were so cowardly that they wouldn't eat them or wear their feathers for fear of contracting the spirit of cowardice.” (italicized from http://www.chron.com/life/article/The-turkey-was-almost-our-national-bird-1732163.php)

As nice as the ‘big bird’ may be (forgive the pun, if you watched the first presidential debate and subsequent media fallout, you know what I am talking about), Franklin may have been averse to it had he read the following account by Ardeth G. Kapp in her book, Doing What We Came To Do: A Lifetime of Love. 

After supper one evening during the latter part of the summer, just before harvest time, I stood with a friend on top of the big dirt mound that covered our root cellar located just next to the clothesline.  Together we taunted several other girls as we pushed them down the side of the root cellar.  Kobie, my neighbor, and her cousins attempted to climb one side as we shouted: "We're the boss of Bunker's Hill.  We can fight and we can kill!"  This challenging declaration repeated in mocking tones, became a source of irritation to those below, and with increased determination they tried to get to the top and push us off.  When our position looked threatened, I immediately announced that it was our root cellar anyway, and they couldn't play on it anymore!  This only intensified the struggle.
The friendly chants of our other childhood activities were not part of this experience.  Words were called that gave expression to troubled and mounting feelings.  Kobie and her friends said we were cheating, and she called us names.  I immediately reminded her that her mother was from Holland and talked funny.  Someone picked up a rotten potato from the pile that had been cleared out of the root cellar and threw it, and then another potato was thrown, and another, and another, until potatoes were flying in both directions.
By now the destructive chants were being repeated first by one side and then the other, such as "Sticks and stones can break my bones, but names can never hurt me."  By this time my friend and I were emerging as the winners, and Kobie and her friends were shouting through their tears.  As we all left the root cellar and went our separate ways, it was an awful feeling even to be a winner.
The next day, when I had to explain to Dad why the potatoes were scattered all over the ground, he seemed to understand much more than I reported to him.  He asked a lot of questions that were hard to answer.  In my mind it was all Kobie's fault.  Now I was in trouble, and I was determined to get even with her.  My friends and I had decided we didn't need Kobie and her friends, and that was that.  And so we began looking for things to justify our decision.  She dressed differently.  And besdies, her mom talked funny.  Her dad was a shoemaker who tanned smelly leather hides, while my dad was a farmer who raised turkeys. 
The following evening Dad took me by the hand and we headed toward the turkey pens.  I had gone with him many times before, but his silence on this occasion caused me to feel uneasy as I tried to anticipate the unknown. 
We stood in silence as I watched what I had seen a few times before.  One turkey was pecking on the back of the head of another one.  After repeated peckings, blood came to the surface on the afflicted bird.  This drew the attention of the other turkeys, who now joined in until all were pecking on the same turkey on the same wounded spot.  I stared at the turkeys in silence until I felt quite uncomfortable.  Then Dad broke the silence.
"Do you know why those turkeys are all pecking on that one poor turkey?" he asked.  And without waiting for an answer, he continued: "It usually means they are in need of something.  There may be something lacking in their diet.  When that's the case, the first step is to try to give them what they need so they'll stop this terrible thing.  I also have to put a tar-like salve on the wound of the injured turkey so the wound can be protected until it heals."
Dad went on, "If the other turkeys continue to peck on this bird or other birds, there is something else we can do."  I listened, curious. "We can take the wounded bird out and move it away from the others so it will have a chance to heal.  But the real concern is for the birds that are doing the pecking, because if they're not stopped they could destroy a whole flock of valuable turkeys.  If they can't be trained, they have to be controlled."  He paused. "There is a last resort."
All of a sudden, I remembered the last resort.  I knew what had to happen to those birds.  I had seen it done often but hadn't understood why.  Months before, I had watched Dad take something that looked like electric clippers from a shelf in the turkey coop.  My brother would catch one of the turkeys that had been pecking on the others.  He would hold it securely under his arm while Dad seared off the sharp tip of its beak.  Then my brother would release it back into the flock, now harmless because it could not peck anymore.  I remembered the awful smell; I had always wondered why those dumb birds would do such a stupid thing.  They deserved to have their beak tips burned off, I thought.
Dad shifted his position.  He was no longer looking at the turkeys; he was looking straight at me.  "Sometimes people, and not just children," he explained, "will begin to say unkind things about someone.  They begin to peck on them, and then others join in the pecking.  Before long a sore can develop--not one that you can see on the outside, but one that causes a lot of hurting inside.  Not only does it hurt the person who is suffering such unkindness, but, even more, it can destroy the person who allows those kinds of thoughts and words to get in his head.  Do you know what I mean?" he asked.
Immediately I remembered the awful feeling I had felt inside when I threw the potatoes and told Kobie and her friends to get off our root cellar and go home.  Although Dad had not mentioned Kobie and the incident of that dreadful day, there was no doubt in my mind that, had it not happened, all this concern for the turkeys would never have come up.
It wasn't long after this incident that we heard that Kobie and her family were going to move to another town.  A few days later I stood by the white picket fence that separated our yards and watched her dad and brothers load the truck that would carry all their belongings away.  Kobie would go too, I thought, and her mom and dad.  It was okay, now that her mom spoke differently, and I remembered that she did have a beautiful singing voice, and I loved the way her dad could put soles on old shoes that would make them look new.  I didn't want Kobie to go.
I wondered deep inside if I were responsible for this move, thinking of the turkeys that had to be moved to another location so their wounds could heal.  And I also thought of what happened to the turkeys that didn't stop pecking the other birds.
I wanted to cry, and I wanted Kobie to stay.  I wanted her to climb on our root cellar again.  I wanted her to slide down our cellar door.  I wanted to turn the rope for her while she jumped.  but that evening Kobie and her family left their home.  They left our neighborhood and our town.  A lot of people gathered around to say good-bye.  I just watched and watched.  And when Kobie looked my way, I raised my hand just a little and waved.  Kobie waved back, and somehow I hoped she knew I was sorry--very, very sorry.
I met my friend Kobie years later, after we had both frown up.  We embraced and remembered and shared our love for each other as sisters in the gospel.  Whenever I hear of a relationship wounded or scarred, I remember my friend Kobie and how I felt when she moved away.  I trust that as sisters in the gospel we remember our covenants to help bear one another's burdens (not add to them), to comfort those in need of comfort, and to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things.  May words of comfort and encouragement flow freely as we cheer for each other along our journey "home".

I have pecked and been pecked many times in my life as I assume you have too.  Why do we peck at one another when we are acutely aware of how very much it hurts?  Could it be that what Ms. Kapp said is true?  Is it that there is something fundamentally lacking in our own lives that leads us to tear others down?  I think so.  However poor the character Franklin thought our eagle, notice that it spends most of its time in its nest caring for its young or soaring high above the landscape.  Would it not behoove us to do the same and mind our own, staying above the muck and the mud of petty gossip and slander?  How different would our country and tonight’s presidential debate be if we behaved like that instead of a group of wild turkeys?  What if instead of telling us what they think we want to hear the candidates told us what they really believed and how those beliefs would dictate their policies, and then afterwards stood by their stance rather than trying to find the flaws and gaps in their opposition?  Our country is so divided, and I fear that the rift will grow if we continue to peck and push our way to elections.  We desperately need to recognize and address the things that are fundamentally lacking in our moral character both individually and as a nation, so that we don’t find ourselves attacking one another for another four years.  I don’t think our little flock can sustain that. 

 All of us are a work in progress, and usually I find we are keenly aware of our own shortcomings—we do not need someone to point them out.  I think there is a big difference between defending yourself and your values and hen pecking at one another’s faults.  Tonight as I watch the debate, I will be looking and hoping for a candidate that defends the Constitution and the people, not their own ego and past policies.  I will be listening for if these men are more intent on issuing peckings, or promoting the enduring principles our nation was built upon.  I will be evaluating which one will be less inclined to police my skies and regulate my nest.  Our nation is on the figurative Thanksgiving platter, and we are going to get served up for lunch next month if we don’t get over this peck style political approach we’ve developed.  We don’t need a turkey in the straw, we need an eagle in the skies. A man like that may well be on the endangered species list, but I believe that God will raise up just such if we pray for it.  Please remember our country in your prayers over the coming days and weeks.