My chicken laid an egg today. It is darling, only about the size of my Thumb. I noticed last week she has been a bit frantic. The rooster seems on edge as well and none of the three (one duck) wanted me to enter the garden. This was a big change from their normal demeanor of following me around like lovesick puppies. On the 4th of July, I found three bitty eggs among the Pumpkin vines. Sweet one was beside her self with happiness and Swag was strutting like he was the proud papa. We took two eggs and left one marked so she would continue to feel comfortable using the same spot if she liked. They are bantams eggs. Really too small to eat and difficult to gather. But the little chicken family of two trying in vain to make sense of this beautiful conundrum has struck my heart. They were raised in incubators. Hatched in bulk. Mailed across 3 state lines from Texas at 2 days of age. Only the physically strong would survive. Carted off from their only source of warmth and community in a sets of six to be handled and over loved by two eager children in a garage with a blinding red heat lamp. Yet they not only survived but they also thrive. We love our chickens. And have cried tears of sadness when a roaming hawk or other predator has taken away our beloved friends. Now we have 2 that sit on our deck and greet us at the back door, watch us play kickball, and enjoy a romp in the summer sprinkler. And I cannot help but wonder… What did she think when she first laid her egg? Was she confounded by nature never having seen a chicken family her self? Never feeling the warmth and devotion of a mother hen. Or did she trust. That deep trust that comes from knowing some power greater than you is in control of the world and your body. The knowledge that you would do anything for this thing that came from you but you are entirely helpless to do more than hope and pray for grace. Did God whisper in their little chicken spirits to trust His grace is sufficient? Now I know chickens are not very high on the intelligence hierarchy of animals. And I am not saying my chickens enjoy a spiritual life that shadows the average stranger on the street. But I wonder if she sent up a prayer asking for help. Asking for guidance. To whom else would a chicken pray but to the one true God. Our Heavenly Father has provided for my chickens. He is giving them life when they themselves have never witnessed such a thing as a chicken sitting on an egg, or a mother hen gently nurturing her little flock of beloved. And it makes me contemplate… How many generations sit between my family and Noah. Or Moses. I have not seen the Red Sea part and become dry land. I did not witness my Savior die on the cross and resurrect 3 days later. But the action of those deeds echo in my heart. While I have been raised away from the flesh and blood manifestation of Jesus, I know him to be real. And the knowledge of that brings me peace when life hands me nuggets I don’t know what to do with. Do my chickens see God manifesting in that nest? I do not know. But their excitement over new life lets me see God’s design in them. While I may have been separated by time from my Heavenly Father walking on this earth, I am surrounded by him in the parallel of timelessness. I have peace He has gone before and behind me. But mostly, the knowledge he is right here with me always. Today, the two chickens were extra frantic over the disruption of their prior nest. She has chosen a new spot to lay in their coop and we are giving them space to guard and decipher what they should do with their new found feelings. If she chooses to sit on her eggs I will support her decision. If not, I will borrow an incubator from a friend. It seems like such a waste to not use every egg just as we should every moment. Mathew 6:26 Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? 27 Which of you by worrying can add one cubit to his stature? Share this:Tweet
