A few weeks ago someone gifted the twins and I with four sentient beings. Ever since we lost eight Silkies to predators this winter we have missed snuggling them in our laps. A friend offered to hatch some more for us, even though we had failed to keep the last four she gave us safe. Two are black and two are white with black splashes. Like dalmatians.

Then last week another friend offered us two more Silkie chicks. They are with their mama for another few days but we have met them, fallen in love with them, cradled them in our cupped hands. One has nine toes. 

Raising chickens has been a course in commitment, demanding that we show up without fail to care for them whatever the weather, or our schedule that day. Leaving for a week to attend our son's wedding meant creating a plan which included five people.  Each day one of them will unlock their safe houses, restock the feed and water and grit, and lock them up at dusk. 

Today our son is getting married. He is being granted the immense gift of love for his bride. God is generous this way, handing over the care and protection of His beloved child to an imperfect spouse. Caring for someone else every blessed day, whatever your emotional weather, or how crowded your schedule happens to be, takes grit. Love arrives over and over, with a fresh dose showing up with the dawn. Unless it happens to be cloudy in your heart. 

It is sometimes tempting to doubt that more will arrive, that somehow we will exhaust the supply the way we do with chick food. But that is even less probable than the sun getting snagged on the peak of Mt. Everest, and not making it over the horizon. The sun will come.

There were days this winter when the warmth was far, far away, and clouds bigger than my town kept me from finding the source of light. But appearances are not always a reliable source of certainty.

My prayer today is for Micah and Nicole to show up to care for one another, today, and today, and today, and another today. 

And to cradle each other's life in their cupped hands.