A little help from above

I struggle with faith.  I like logic, plans, spreadsheets and predictable patterns.  Yet, life keeps giving me experiences that remind me that things do work out just fine, and all in good time. 

Take for instance, our chicken dalima.  And delima/saga it has been.  Here is a quick and dirty run down of our chicken timeline:

1.  Last summer John's friends Steve offered us 4 heirloom laying chickens that he was going to bring in the next 24 hours.
2.  We converted a potting shed into a chicken coop that day.
3.  We got four beautiful health chickens
4.  A week later we started getting roughly 4 eggs a day.
5.  Life as good.
6.  Three stray dogs show up at our house.
7.  John puts dogs in barn, calls the number on the collar and says come and get them
8.  John gets up the next morning, lets chickens out like he always does.
9.  John decides he would rather the three stray dogs go to the bathroom outside, rather than in the barn.
10.  John realizes that he doesn't even know the names of the dogs to call them to come back in the barn.
11.  John leaves the dogs out while he takes the boys to school because he does not want to go through the halls as the dad who brought his kids late AGAIN.
12.  He comes home to helter skelter.  The dogs killed one chicken, maimed another one that it died a slow and painful death, our "smartest" chicken survived, and another one had a big chunk of feathers missing.
13.  John now angrily calls the number on the collar again to explain that their dogs are murders and to get them NOW. 
14.  Isaac comes home and crys, A LOT.  He loved his chickens (mostly for their eggs, but still there was love.) 
15.  The dog owner comes and picks up the three dogs and drops off 5 chickens.  Two are ornamental and could not produce and egg larger than a quarter and the other three look like they fell off the Tyson nasty reject chicken truck.
16.  We begrudgingly take these replacement chickens feeling like the child who's goldfish died while they were away on vacation and the old switcharo was pulled on them.
17.  The replacement chickens are yucky diseased and eat my garden for months, and do not produce a single egg. 
18.  I am cranky. 
19.  The two ornamental ones get eaten by an owl.  I do not grieve but thank the owl.
20.  I have to kill the most diseased of the three Tyson chickens.  It is horrible.
21.  John refuses to get rid of the other two.
22.  I tell him to "man up" and just kill them or he can be that guy who drops them off somewhere hoping someone else will take care of them.
23.  He drags his feet, he won't do it, he will do it tomorrow.
24.  Finally there was an intervention.

Yesterday John is instant that I go and check out the chicken coop before I rush off to my mother's house for dinner.  I am in a rush and I can't figure out why his is being so insistent.  I go anyway, only to discover there are only two chickens, and the gross white ones are not there. 

I come back around the house and ask John if he finally "maned up" and did the deed.  He smiled and said, NOPE.  A hawk did it for me.  What luck for us.  Yes, we have a perverse view of luck, but really it was all for the best.  So thank you world, thank you hawk, thank you up above for taking care of one of our chores that we couldn't quite bring ourselves to do. 

I can't help but wonder, "What next?"