Three of our Silkie hens are broody. For weeks Elphaba, Glinda, and Boq have valiantly sat on a clutch of eggs just inside their coop. The roof is wooden, unlike the clear plastic one on our larger coop, so the long days are no doubt dim with only the door open to daylight.  Fluffy chicks could start piping today, or tomorrow, but I am trying not to interfere and have not candled the eggs. The twins scoot the faithful mamas out into the yard once a day to eat and drink and stretch their spindly legs. But they are astonishingly patient with the task of keeping those babies warm. 

Who told them how this all works? What inner messages are whispering to them to stay still, wait, and believe? When the chicks do emerge another set of imperatives will kick in, motivating them to teach the tiny birds how to drink, where to find food, how to scratch, when to come hide under her soft underbelly. I find it a miracle every time. 

Three weeks may seem like forever. Neither has expressed impatience, nor asked for reading material. For Elphaba, Glinda, and Boq the world pivots on the safety of life that they can neither hear nor see. 

God is broody. I do not say "too" because that would imply that He got the idea from chickens, rather than the other way around. 

I am invited to brood over my marriage, to wait, to keep it warm, to sit in the darkness away from the action. There are times when it feels as if not much is happening, and yet maybe it is.