It was my first day on the job as a financial specialist for a busy bank in Central Florida. I stood in my new office with the beautiful cherry furniture, a painting of the ocean, and a wall of windows looking out on green grass and trees. It was perfect.

Then I heard a rooster crow. Was I imagining it? There were no farms nearby. No, there it was again. It was definitely a rooster. And it was right outside my window. I had wanted to move out of the big city, but this was ridiculous. Had I moved to Green Acres? I looked outside on the grass, on the ground, in the trees, but no rooster was evident.

I told my coworker that I had a rooster crowing outside my window and she just laughed. "Oh, that's the electric chicken at Barnhill's, the restaurant across the street." she said. We laughed and called it our "pet chicken."

I laughed about it at first, but after hearing that chicken crow all day long, every day, it soon was not funny. I grew to hate that rooster. Every time it would crow, I'd say, "Darn that chicken!" And the more I hated it, the more it crowed. It seemed to crow relentlessly.

I wondered what caused him to crow. Was it the door opening? Did the staff hit a button every time they sold a chicken dinner? Did it crow every time they wrung a chicken's neck? Would they like me to wring a chicken's neck for them?

I was making myself crazy. It never occurred to me to go over and ask them why the rooster crowed, because when lunchtime came I wanted to get as far away from that bird as possible.

So, I guess you could say this chicken was my thorn in the flesh. I would just have to bear it.

Banker's hours
The job I had was difficult. I sold stocks, bonds, mutual funds and annuities. I was a loan officer and a mortgage lender, and had to open new accounts and do customer service. I dealt with difficult people and complex problems all day long. It stretched my mind and spirit to their limits. I had to call on God moment by moment just to stay in my seat and not run out the door. I learned a new level of patience, and I learned the meaning of longsuffering, as I dealt with people who thought nothing of insulting me or cussing me out.

Until I went to work at that bank, I never realized how hard those bank employees worked—and for so little pay. What's more, the threat of a robbery, though statistically remote, is always in the back of their minds.

It wasn't long before I knew this job was not for me. But I decided I would stick it out for a few more months until I paid off my bills. And so the problems remained of how to deal with the difficult people and the crowing chicken.

One day, it occurred to me that I could approach both of my problems in one of two ways. Since I didn't want to quit, I could grit my teeth and bear it, or I could make the best of it somehow.

Barnie, we hardly knew ya
I asked God to show me how to handle my situation, and then I tried a new tactic. When the rooster crowed, I joked about it with my customers. When they would hear it for the first time, I'd tell them I'd pay for their dinner if they'd go over to Barnhill's and pluck that bird! I even had a contest to name him. The winner: Barnie, the Electric Chicken.

I had made my peace with Barnie at last. One day I heard him crow, and I swear it sounded like, "I can do it for you." God was speaking to me through Barnie. After that, every time I heard Barnie crow I'd think, "God can help me get through this."

And He did. When Barnie crowed or the customers were mean, I'd hear that chicken speaking God's promise: "I can do it for you." And I'd instantly feel at ease. Time after time, God helped me be patient with unhappy customers or take the time to simply listen to their stories. Often I would learn that their family was going through some crisis. Many times I would share a Bible verse or ask if I could pray for them.

What had been a thorn in my side turned out to be a blessing. God, as always, was teaching me and changing me, and He used a piece of mechanical poultry as His messenger.

Ironically, once I learned this lesson and embraced Barnie, he was gone. Hurricane Jeanne blew through Florida last fall, taking my chicken with her. I never heard Barnie crow again, but I'll always remember with fondness the lessons he taught me.

Gail Griner Fraga is a writer based in Port St. John, Florida.

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