Musing About A Little Hen

Every year, Mom gets a number of meat chickens to raise. I think it's really quite necessary for our family - it's a lot cheaper to buy 50+ chickens, and raise them yourself, rather than buying $50+ worth of meat every week just to feed your ravenous, growing, high-metabolic family.

My Mom is a thinker, and she thinks about these things.

Every year, there is that one little chick that doesn't do quite as well as the rest. Either it didn't start out as strong in the first place, or, over the weeks as it grew it was shoved aside, away from the food, by the other chickens, and so never had the opportunity to thrive like it should.

Still, no matter the reason, there's one every year.

This morning as I was doing the chores, I opened the door to let all the chickens out. (We do this so they can peck around the yard, eating up bugs and getting a wee bit of fresh air and exercise.) They all came tumbling out, pleased to escape the confines of their shed. I watched with amusement as the fat ones stumbled along, clucking and bobbing their heads as they began searching for dainty morsels in the grass.

Then I saw the Little One.

She was stepping slowly out of the shed, her head drawn back as though she were both scared and extremely tired. She didn't seem to trust the other chickens; she didn't follow them as they moved across the yard. She was on the point of exhaustion, and she seemed very hungry, but unable to do anything about it.

I feel like that sometimes.

I went and got her a bit of grain from the barn, and put it in front of her. She began to eat as though she hadn't been near food for a day and a half. I was inclined to believe it; she's half the size of the other chickens.

I crouched in front of her as she ate, guarding her from the other chickens who came stumble-running from wherever they had gone, intent upon taking her food. I kept them away as they gave me dirty looks. (Have you ever gotten a dirty look from a chicken?)

As more and more came, I finally picked up the Little One and moved her to just beside the barn, giving her another pile of food. The previous pile was soon devoured by the other chickens, who sprang upon it the very second I stepped away.

Still, they weren't content to remain at that pile and let the Little One have her own. As I was feeding the other animals, they came sauntering over, and as I watched they nearly swamped her, shoving her and stepping on her until she cried out in pain. I rescued her from there and set her up on a bin, feeding her a bit more in safety.

I then set her behind the barn door, where she was out of the wind, and gave her another pile of grain.

I think God does that for us. He has compassion on us when we are weak, tired, and hungry, and provides what we need. He protects us from the worries and cares of this world, and gives us shelter.

The thing is, I'm not sure if the chicken even realized what I had done. Did the Little One just see the food? Or did she feel my hand on her back, and see my other hand warding off the bigger, stronger chickens? Did she feel comforted? Did she feel safe? Or did she eat, all the while wondering when the other ones were coming to shove her out of the circle, away from the food?

We don't always thank God for what He has done, because He has done what is beyond our understanding. Sometimes, all we see is what He has provided, instead of seeing the gracious Hand that gave it to us.

Romans 11:33

"Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable his ways!"