Having a broody hen was magical. When we kept chickens the instinct to valiantly sit on a clutch of eggs arrived from an invisible waft of maternal instinct. The long days sequestered away were no doubt dim with only the door open to daylight. The twins would scoot the faithful mamas out into the yard once a day to eat and drink and stretch their spindly legs. But they were astonishingly patient with the task of keeping those promises warm.
Who told them how this all works? What inner messages were whispering to them to sit still, wait, and believe? When the chicks did emerge another set of imperatives kicked 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. It was a miracle every time.
Three weeks may seem like forever. They never expressed impatience, nor asked for reading material. For a hen in waiting 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 linger in the darkness away from the action. There are times when it feels as if not much is happening, and yet maybe it is.
“Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing." Matthew 23
