2 minutes 22 seconds
Most mornings, I greet my twelve hens by name as I open their little coop door and release them into the bright summer joys of worms and all things yummy and green. Most summer evenings, I “tuck them all in” and gently stroke each one through their feathers. Such is the life of a girl who delights in bonding with her hens!
Until recently, I have been a fan of all of my chickens.
Lately, there has been a problem brewing within my flock. The problem’s name is Betty and I am no longer her fan.
My Buff Orpington, Betty, has become the broodiest of the brood, changing nesting boxes throughout the day and night as she sits on the other hen’s eggs and refuses to leave the coop. Yielding to her preference to sit inside all day, I have left Betty alone. However, I have a vested interest in what she is sitting on – my breakfast – so each morning, I carefully reach under her to collect the eggs she is sitting on.
Betty has gone from broody to beastly. I’m not sure what switch flipped inside her brain but she seems to have lost her marbles! My bloodied fingers are proof. Each morning, her already small eyes narrow as I reach toward her, and she pecks me, repeatedly and hard. I resort to donning gloves to collect eggs.
This morning as our little dance continues, I am confident I see in Betty’s eyes a meanness, a defiance that I haven’t seen before. It’s alarming. In my imagination I envision her flying off her nest and going for my throat. Today, her extensively ruffled feathers and loud vocal response tell me she is ticked off! Have you ever heard a chicken growl? It’s true: Betty has become a growling chicken!
Betty and I are at an impasse. Today, I decide to leave her alone rather than risk reaching under her. I consider two options:
1. Resolve to continue gathering eggs, gloved, and daily risk my jugular.
2. Behead her and be done with her nastiness, resulting in one less egg a day.
My afternoon habit has been to revisit my hens with several handfuls of bonus treats – cucumbers or tomatoes from our garden or scraps from my kitchen. My eleven always come running to my sing-song call of “Here, girls!”
Today I keep back one bright, juicy strawberry. As I peek in the coop to check on Betty, she swings her head around and glares at me. With the berry in hand, I consider again my two options for dealing with her and a third option comes to mind.
Squatting close but not too close in front of her nesting box I hold out my offering. She violently and aggressively pecks into the berry and sits frozen with the strawberry stuck in her beak. She doesn’t taste or swallow. I remain steady; she remains still. We are at a standoff.
After a full minute, Betty’s feathers unruffle slightly; she drops her berry into her box and pecks repeatedly at the tasty handout.
I don’t reach under her to feel for eggs. I leave the coop decidedly. There may be a third option for how to deal with my broody, lost-her-marbles Betty: kindness.
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Romans says that it is the kindness of God that leads us to repentance. I believe this in my own story of sanctification, and I know this to be true in many other stories of sister sojourners. Most importantly, God’s Word is true and He said it, so I believe it.
I’m not sure how the Betty saga will unfold. Perhaps I’ll revisit “option 2” at some point, but for now I’m determined to hand-feed her something delicious every day and see what happens.
If this kindness-truth can be applied in a mere chicken’s very short and utterly non-eternal life, how much more unspeakably important is it to apply this truth of kindness toward difficult, rude, or mean-spirited people?
Kindness and gentleness are fruit of the Spirit, the genuine work of God within us. Let’s rely upon God to enable us to do our part in living kind and gentle lives. Watch and wait for His work of reconciliation and restoration.