The sequence of events was rather delicate, really. Last summer one of our Silkie hens went broody and it ached me to see her sit on infertile eggs for upwards of five weeks.  A friend brought an egg ripe for hatching, and we gently placed it under her soft white belly. The next day, a little gray chick peeped out into the sun. We named him Penny and he followed his mama as if there was a leather leash between them. That is until he was deemed a grown up and his mother lost interest in coddling him. Penny floundered to find his way in the microcosm of Odhner chickens.

A few weeks ago Penny came into his own. He crowed like a banshee, and chased the hens with exuberance. I had an inkling that the small white eggs might now hold a potential beyond breakfast.

Then one sad morning proud Penny fell to the claws of a hawk, and we were distraught to find a mountain of gray feathers in the yard.

The white Silkie listened to her instincts and began to sit on the eggs. We had no assurance that this would go anywhere but she was faithful, sitting twenty three and a half hours a day. Then the morning after Tableaux we heard cheeping. A little black fluff ball emerged from the safety of her mother's breast. She is beautiful, and we named her Angel because the twins had just done a marvelous job bringing good news to the shepherds.

As the circle of life would have it, John's father recently passed into heaven. A few hours after we heard, another white egg cracked open. A sweet gray chick appeared, and we named her Oliver.

The other day a dear friend came over to meet our chicks, and her laughter spilled out like rain. It was delightful to watch, as she was trying to heal from the death of a relationship. New life, small enough to fit in her hand, brought joy sufficient to hold the pain at bay.

Today is Christmas eve. All of the music, and lights, and travel that is crammed into this season is about birth. People follow the tug to climb on planes, and drive into the night, give generously, and sing their hearts out.

Sometimes I forget the back story. Loss and fear were rampant, with the slaughter of hundreds of baby boys. The oppression of Caesar hung like a hawk with claws open.

But God came to earth to gather us, with the Source of devotion that trickles down into a three pound Silkie, waiting tirelessly to protect her chick.