Needy

Runty pigs are needy.

Besides food and water, they need warmth, protection, and extra medical care. 

Two of our sows farrowed last week, and out of nineteen piglets, one was a runt.

In a Charlotte’s Web scenario, I brought the little pig into the garage. It was unresponsive, with mud plugging its nose and mouth. After a quick wash, he grunted a little. I hurriedly plugged in the heating pad and heated some milk.

The elation when he began sucking at the bottle, squealing, and grunting was universal as my kids helped and watched the struggle for life. 

Now, a week into it, the initial celebration has turned into a ten-times-a-day task that seems to have more output (in the form of pig poo) than input.

He’s needy, and we have to supply all that he needs. We even tried putting him back with the mother, but he needs more care than she can provide. We brought him back to the garage.

I decided to teach the Sermon on the Mount at Sunday School and Bible Clubs this summer in our community. As I planned out the lessons, I meditated on the neediness of the children I would be working with.

And I wondered why Jesus chose the poor, the mourning, the meek, the hungry, and the persecuted to be “happy, happy” or “blessed.”

The more I thought about it, the more I learned that they are blessed because they are aware of their need. They know that they cannot supply the kingdom of heaven for themselves. They can’t fabricate or manufacture comfort. They can’t obtain their own inheritance. They can’t satisfy themselves.

They are like little children, left to fend for themselves, or little runty pigs who can’t get what they need to stay alive. 

Those who are needy know they need to ask, seek, and knock for supply.

When Jesus preached the Sermon on the Mount, He was instructing us about our need. He was inviting us to comprehend our abject inability to do for ourselves what only He is able to do for us. He was also letting us know that He is the abundant supply. 

As I wrestled the bottle into the pig’s mouth, I thought about my refusal of God’s supply. My pride gets in the way of my admission of need. I don’t need help. I don’t need advice. I don’t need anything, if I can help it, because admitting my need diminishes my self-sufficiency and my capability to deal with all that this life throws at me. 

In other words, I like to ignore the truth of the situation: I am weak, but He is strong.

This week at Bible club, every request for more hotdogs, more water, more kindness, cut right through my pride and peeled it away like the dragon skin it is, revealing my deep need for Jesus and all that He gives.

Just like my runty pig, I can’t do anything on my own, but the Father scoops me up in His capable hand and lovingly supplies my every need.