There is a perch inside one of the chicken pens that is a stretch for the hens to get to. When they were younger, and lighter, it was several feet lower than they were capable of reaching. But they are layers now, and with that ability comes the bulk that makes flying harder. I watched my favorite, Mozzie, as she looked up, calculated the distance, and flung herself toward it. She made it, barely, and my first thought was to lower the branch. Why not make it easier? 

Then I remembered when Micah was in water polo. His coach was forever raising the bar. Pun intended. When the team could tread water with their arms in the air for three minutes he upped it to five and gave them milk jugs of water to hold too. My maternal instincts flared when Micah told me and I wanted to protect him by scolding that mean man and giving my son extra cookies. 

But the coach is smarter than I am, and knew that softening the practices does his players no favors. Micah, by the way, got stronger. And when dastardly opponents tried to drown him beneath the surface, out of the ref's eyes, he could hold his own. 

God is a pretty clever coach too. He knows that while cookies are nice, a robust set of spiritual biceps are handy. Especially when life tries to pull you under the surface.