One of the sweet pleasures of my day is watching two Silkie mamas with their chicks.  Elpheba and Boq sat diligently on eggs for three weeks in the sweltering summer sun, waiting for the sounds of peeping under their bellies. As it turned out, only one of the five eggs hatched, but with nothing more than a credit card number I was able to add eight day old chicks to their family. The fluffy "assorted exotic breeds" arrived at the post office peeping loudly and when I introduced them to their new mothers, everyone was happy.  

I feel like Fern Arable as I sit beside their coop, which is called West Wing. The mamas have an array of clucks that send precise messages.

"Eat this."

"Come here."

"Don't move."

"Follow me." 

When breakfast is over, and the mamas settle down, the chicks find ways to snuggle in. Toby and Sam dive underneath, Charlie and C.J. jump on her back, Josh and Donna slip under her wings. The rooster sits apart, his eyes trained on the horizon scanning for danger. His clucks rule the flock. 

Seeing their diligence touches me. For four pound creatures, they stay the course. 

For six weeks, that is. 

Then the chicks are fully integrated and expected to find their way. The mamas go back to laying eggs. 

Caring for others runs deep in the human heart too. This week I got an update from the group that is providing a home for a family immigrating from Congo. There was also a work party for two households that are overwhelmed by life. A church service that focused on suicide prevention had hundreds of viewers.

The urge to nurture appears to be pulsing through our world as if it came from a Source that shows no signs of depletion. Which is the case.