There is a significant change in how eggs are produced in the last few years. Most of us were in the dark about the conditions chickens endured, and unwittingly picked up a carton full. Three at Easter. But as pictures emerged of hens trapped in cramped cages that prevent them from natural behaviors like standing up, scratching the grass, or stretching their wings, many people started reading labels. Cage free, and pasture raised are two stabs at humane treatment, though there are ways for large farms to be deceptive. You can get away with calling them free range if the hens have access to the outside, even if there are ten thousand birds jammed inside a warehouse with one twelve inch door. 

 

There is a heart string in most people that yearns to see animals and people be free. Today is all about liberty. Back when we kept chickens I loved to sit and watch my flock happily preening, and perching side by side. Their freedom was important to me.

 

God cares about our freedom. I would say "too", but His love precedes and informs mine. He goes to great lengths to allow us to exercise our choices, even though we have a history of choosing badly. 

 

Freedom is the air that marriage breathes. By contrast, the urge to manipulate our partner is often entrenched in old patterns, and we find deceptive labels to pretty it up.

 

"I'm saving him the trouble of deciding."

 

"She doesn't know what's best for her, so I'll take charge."

 

There are times when I actually manage to keep the strings off of John. One time he asked if he should go to a wedding with me or go to a barbershop event. He looked a little nervous, as if I might be peckish about it. But I assured him that either choice was good. He was free to sing. Which is a natural behavior for him. 

 

The irony is that cleaning up my own behavior is actually a full time job. To divert my attention to micromanaging my husband is to assume that I have finished eradicating my own flaws. Which is as pompous as a rooster at sunrise.