The yearning to be a mother kept her sitting on an old egg. The fluffy black bantam was steadfast in resisting the urge to get off the nest. When she did give in and get up, she wasted little time pecking at feed, getting a drink, and settling herself over the tiny brown egg. After a week, I removed the egg for candling. It was plain to see. There would be no hatchling but I gave the egg back to her. I hated to see her disappointed. So, I fixed the situation—at least, I hoped to bring about a happy conclusion.

I headed for a nearby, small town and a feed store I had seen on the main road. When I got there, I was appalled at the condition of the place. The area where they housed the baby chicks, ducks, assorted chickens, and rabbits was deplorable. I did not attempt to find the cage with baby chicks, but beat a hasty retreat from the flies and slimy mess covering the concrete floor under the crowded cages. Throwing caution to the wind, I asked a teenage boy—sporting a wad of tobacco in his cheek—to get me one chick. I was determined I wouldn’t go home empty-handed. My hen had to be rewarded for her diligence.

The teen brought me a box with a reddish brown chick in it. He told it was supposed to be a brown-legged something—I didn’t catch the name.

As soon as I got home, I headed out to the hen’s cage. Ignoring the waves of misgivings crowding my thoughts, I held the chick’s beak shut so it couldn’t chirp, pushed it under the hen’s wing, and slipped out the bad egg.


The hen turned her head, tipped it sideways, and stared at the brown chick poking its head out from under her black plumage. Over a week old, the little chick had the beginnings of wing feathers—she wasn’t a new hatchling, by any means. The chick shut her eyes and her head sank to the pine shavings in the box. She acted exhausted. I feared a sickness would soon present itself and the tiny bird would die. Not sure if the hen would accept it and not sure if I had done a smart thing, I walked away from the cage—not wanting to witness what might immediately happen.

Hours went by and I kept a close check on the biddy and hen. I watched as the hen used her beak to peck at the young chick, making it jerk awake, stagger to its feet, and chirp. I held my breath, trying to judge if the hen was being mean, getting ready to kill the baby, or acting helpful. The hen took her sharp curved beak, which could kill the chick with one jab, and acted like she was cleaning the baby’s fuzzy feathers, and she continued to nudge it when it dozed off.

Many times, I checked and worried needlessly. She never got up off the nest, only ruffled her feathers, and clucked a warning when I came near. The chick clearly understood her new mama and responded by burrowing under the black wing, hiding from view.

Early the next morning I stood beside the cage and watched the hen pecking at food. She scratched and softly clucked to the adopted baby. After running up under the hen’s neck, the brown biddy pecked where the hen persistently tapped with her bill. Lesson number one was in progress—there’s food here, come watch me. Then mama hen spotted me and she sounded a warning cluck. Danger! Mind me, get under my wing. I’ll protect you as one of my own. You’re in my care now. You’ve been adopted and accepted—with no reservations. You’re fluffy and brown, too old to be my hatchling, and my black feathers don’t match yours, but you’re the one I’ll fight for.


I couldn’t help but think how we, as humans, may have our beginnings in mire and nasty surroundings, separated from anyone who would try to love us or rescue us. God plucks us out of places where others fear to even walk and dirty their feet or hands. We aren’t considered worth much—maybe we’re just a brown-legged something—no real title or name.

God cleans us up, not stopping to estimate the danger of the filth covering us. With no reservation, we’re sheltered under his mighty, unmatched wing of grace. We are urged and directed to stand up and overcome our weaknesses. He loves us and wants us come to the realization that we belong to him. We’re one of the adopted but treated as a real son or daughter. If we pay attention, God teaches us with his wisdom and shows us the best way to find spiritual nourishment and living water. But in all things, we must pay attention, accept his gift, and run to do his bidding.

Do you sometimes feel like a brown-legged something?  🙂


Please post a comment below.



“Every wise woman buildeth her house: but the foolish plucketh it down with her hands.” Proverbs 14:1 KJV

This scripture can definitely apply to many aspects of our lives. Are you pulling your home down about your head? Are you closing your eyes to the grunge and deterioration eating at the very foundations of your house?

Mildew growing on your bathroom ceiling can present serious health problems to individuals in your family. It is silent, but you can see it spreading along a wall, under wallpaper, and across the paint on the ceiling. You can scrub it, wipe it with a cloth dampened in bleach, and inhibit its growth.

However, what do you do with the filth of this world creeping into the minds of your children or loved ones? Bleach will not wipe it away. It is a deep cleansing that you cannot do on your own.

God offers what you need for the life you live. By keeping Jesus in your home, you can maintain a healthy, safe environment. But many women in today’s society, and in the world, are plucking down the very standards that the Bible tells us will help support our families and children.

God can help with home repairs. He is a Custom Home Builder, specializing in unique preservation, and he offers a “house plan” that fits the quality of life he envisioned for your family.

His Word can help you plan the changes and upkeep in your home. You can rest assured when even the smallest detail of your family’s well-being is in God’s hands. Your walk with Him can help you become a home repair specialist.


God’s arrangement is a unique concept. His plans for the home fit the needs of as many people as possible. Did you ever think of it that way? God designed the home as one man, one woman—with their varying personalities—producing offspring that differ from each other. But they can all live together in harmony! His blueprint provides all the solace each family member needs as they grown spiritually and physically. Children are then equipped to go out into the world and build another home centered on God’s plan.

But we are human. We manage to drift out of God’s plan. We sometimes deliberately tear down the walls around our families. We let dirt from the world soil the carpets of our families’ souls, and we track it in every day—if we are not careful to stay close to God.


Start with your own repentance. Ask God to show you the major, structural damages in your life. Seek the heart repairs needed to rebuild. Be willing to let God take out the rotten parts of your life, reframe you, rebuild you, and restore you. After accepting salvation, which is God’s plan for your life, you will be in his hands. He can help you assemble your family life and home.

Putting God’s ideas into the initial layout of the home should be your number one goal.

Tell God your household problems and talk to him. What kind of cleansing and repairs are you willing to let him do? Is the joy of communication broken? Or perhaps, some “walls” need to come down. What do the members of your family require for their quality of life or even the sustaining of their life? The answer is God, his love, and his perfect home plans.

The home that God helps you build will be of good quality. Seek his set of plans and let God guide you during the fabulous, exciting repairs.

Do not be like the foolish woman. Take the first step, get your life straight with God, and then apply the repairs.

How do you build your house? What steps have you taken? Leave a comment/reply in the space below and help a friend turn in the right direction.

Represented by Linda S. Glaz at