The Pigeon Problem
Everyone had been happy when Dad found work at Wilken’s Bird Farm on the other side of town. Everyone had been happy, that is, until the day Dad brought home the pigeons. A pair for each of us big kids, Daniel thought, as he eyed the eight birds in the cage. Two silver blue pigeons stood out among the white and gray ones: those were the ones he wanted.
“They’re homers,” Dad said, handing the cage to Chad. “We can build them a loft next to the chicken house and you can learn how to fly them.”
“Can we each have one, Daddy?” Rosie asked excitedly.
“I got them for you children to enjoy,” Dad said. “There are plenty to go around.”
But Daniel didn’t think so. “Don’t you think Emma’s too little?” he asked Chad as they carried the cage to the shed. “She won’t know how to take care of them, and besides, there are only four pairs.”
“I want some pigeons, too,” Emma piped up at his elbow. “I can help feed them.”
“I don’t mind,” Irene said. “There are enough for all of us, aren’t there?” Chad and Rosie agreed, but Daniel didn’t think it was fair.
By the following week a cozy loft stood behind the shed and the pigeons were released inside. Daniel watched the silver-blue male, Big Blue strut around. Mr. Wilken had said that he was an experienced racer and raised good squabs. If I can’t have Big Blue and his mate, I won’t have any at all, Daniel decided.
Chad said Emma could pick first. “I like that pure white one,” she said.
“And Rosie and I like the blue pair,” Irene added. Daniel glared at her, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“Especially the hen—she’s so pretty,” agreed Rosie.
“But I wanted the blue male,” Daniel said with a growl.
“You could have him and we could have the hen,” suggested Irene.
“But Mr. Wilken said we shouldn’t separate the pairs.”
“He also said the blue ones can’t be raced,” Chad put in. “Let the girls have them and we can have that gray pair to train for racing.”
“I guess I just won’t have any pigeons,” Daniel said stubbornly.
Irene looked surprised. “Daniel—”
“I don’t care what you say—you’re mean!” Daniel cut in, and stomped toward the house. It’s not fair, he complained to himself. Irene said we could share and just see how selfish she is herself! He slammed the screen door with a bang. I’m not going to share with Chad either—he doesn’t even know what a good pigeon looks like.
That night Daniel pretended not to notice when Chad and Irene began looking over the new Pigeon-Raiser’s Guide. I really don’t care, anyway, he told himself, and began poking at the fire.
Dad sat down in a nearby chair. “So, Daniel, how did your pigeons like their new loft?”
“I don’t have any pigeons,” Daniel said glumly.
“Why not?”
“Chad didn’t give me a chance to pick and the girls were being selfish.”
“What about you? Were you acting like Jesus would want you to?”
Daniel shrugged and turned away. I guess I’m as good as they were, he thought. Rosie’s excited voice made him think of pigeons again, and he suddenly felt lonely. They always leave me out, and everyone thinks they’re good. But they’re not!
It was three days later when Irene came in with a cold, dead bird. Its strong wings lay stiffly against a silver-blue body and Daniel recognized Big Blue at once. “Where did you find him?” Chad asked.
“Near the door; but he wasn’t acting normal yesterday,” Irene said. “Maybe it was the bread the girls gave them.” She ran to get the pigeon book.
“Ooo, poor bird,” Emma murmured. Daniel turned away with a sick feeling. Why did she have to act so innocent? She probably killed him and wasn’t even sorry.
On the way out to get firewood, Daniel stopped by the loft. His fingers clenched as he watched the blue hen sit mournfully by herself. A gust of cold wind whipped at his face and the loft door swayed open and banged against the chicken coop. Ha! Look how responsible they are! Daniel sneered to himself. I guess they can find the pigeons when they get loose. He turned away without a backward look.
“Oh, Mama! The pigeons are all gone!” Rosie cried, bursting into the kitchen less than an hour later. Daniel was silent, but the others gathered around excitedly.
“What happened?” asked Chad. “Did you leave the door open?”
“Oh, no!” moaned Irene. “I think I forgot to latch it after getting—”
“It was wide open,” cut in Rosie, “and I don’t see any of them.”
“They’re homers and so they will fly home,” said Chad.
“So they will be at Mr. Wilken’s! Let’s call and see, please?” But no one at the farm had seen anything of the birds, and Mr. Wilken didn’t think they would likely make it in through the storm.
What do I care? It serves them right, thought Daniel as they sat down to eat. But he stirred his soup dismally, and felt miserable.
Dad must have noticed, for after reading the story of Queen Esther that night, he took Daniel on his lap. “What’s troubling you, my boy? Thinking about the lost pigeons—the ones that aren’t yours?”
“I don’t know,” he mumbled. He didn’t feel like joking.
“Have you been making your own gallows?” Daniel looked up in surprise. “When Mordecai didn’t bow down, Hamen made gallows to kill him,” Dad reminded him. “But who hung on them in the end?”
“He did.”
“Yes, and he didn’t get much happiness out of his revenge either.” Dad said. “Daniel, Jesus wants you to be happy, but you can’t be with such a selfish heart.”
Irene was worse, Daniel told himself, but Dad continued, “You can blame others for your problems, but the Lord looks at your heart. God is fair, but have you been?”
Daniel thought of the open loft door. But they deserved it because…. He tried to remember how selfish Irene had been, but instead he saw her sad look when he had shouted at her. Daniel blinked, trying to forget; but his brain pounded with all the mean things he had thought and done. A few tears began to trickle down his cheeks and he threw his arms around Dad’s neck.
“Shall we pray for Jesus to make you a new boy, Daniel?” Burying his aching head in Dad’s shirt, Daniel nodded. Yes, it was Jesus’ forgiveness and happiness he wanted most of all.