One Good Thing

The coop door stuck this morning. One of the hens gave me side-eye like I was late for our standing appointment (she wasn’t wrong). I gave the latch a solid thump with my boot and it popped open, scattering straw and dignity alike.

My goats bleated like the world was ending…because I had the audacity to be six minutes behind schedule. Apparently, in their world, breakfast has a countdown timer.

I poured my chai, added milk (you know how I do), and leaned on the deck railing for just a second. The sky was that soft, early autumn gray. The kind that makes you want to put on a sweater even if it’s still too warm for one.

I sipped. The goats quieted. A hen hopped up onto the edge of the feeder and tilted her head, like she wanted to know what I was thinking.

And honestly? I wasn’t thinking much of anything.

And maybe that was the gift.

Because most mornings, my head is a carousel of tasks. Work, groceries, messages I forgot to send. Articles I meant to write. Dishes I meant to unload. That weird noise the dryer made. That thing someone said that I’m pretty sure they didn’t mean the way I took it—but still.

But this morning? I just stood there. With chai. And chickens.

And I found myself whispering, “This is one good thing.”

That’s it. That was the whole prayer. Not fancy. Not long. Not deep. But real.

Because maybe the big things—peace, perspective, patience—don’t come from huge, sweeping moments. Maybe they sneak in when the hen finally lays her egg or the deck smells like fall or you drink the tea while it’s still warm.

Maybe the way through the chaos isn’t always more control—it’s catching one good thing and letting it count.

So if you’re spinning a little today—if your to-do list feels taller than you, if the world is loud, if your inbox bites—pause.

Put your hand over your heart, feel that steady beat, and say it with me:

“One good thing.”

Let it anchor you. Let it soften your edges.

And if it’s goats yelling and chai on the deck? Even better.

—The Rusted Sparrow