This week in church the minister held up a toy chicken for a visual aid. It so happens that I bought the knitted bird and her three chicks at the thrift store years ago for the Lunch Bunch room, long before I became a devoted fan of poultry. He put one of the chicks in a round box, symbolizing the egg, and talked about how the hen keeps her baby safe.
Even before a chick hatches, the mother is vigilant. Her body provides warmth, and her watchful eyes are on the look out for predators. Although we have not hosted the process in our coop, I hear a broody hen can be fierce.
It intrigues me that a hen understands how to do this. Who clued her in to what will emerge from this white shell? As I understand hatcheries, she never even gets a pep talk from her mother. We are still breathlessly awaiting our first egg, and someone suggested we put a golf ball in the nesting box as a role model. This would imply that an inexperienced Rhode Island Red can not distinguish between a round plastic ball fit for hitting and an oval orb that definitely is not. But were she given a chance to sit on the egg, she would know all the rules about turning, waiting, and gentleness.
I notice that a hen does not decide when the chick should emerge. She could start pecking and force him or her to come out. But that isn't how it works. When the chick is ready he or she responds to an invisible pull toward the air and light, and starts chipping away from the inside. Too soon and she would die.
There are days when my marriage feels like a boring old egg. Nothing much is happening. We put away groceries, shuttle kids to school, decide whether to host Thanksgiving this year. Even the points of conflict look the same, such as how we spend money, or who fixes things.
Yet somehow I have an instinct to turn the problems over, try a new vantage point. Rather than demand that John take out the trash, I do it. Instead of nagging him to listen to me, I talk with a friend. An unspoken, untraceable message hovers around my heart telling me to wait, and not break the shell of this fragile relationship.
One day I think we will wake up with exponentially more light and freedom.
