Nursing Grace to Life

She was half-dead when we found her.

In the corner of the neighbor’s yard, a full 12 hours after the incident, the kids and Jeff found her mangled, nearly-lifeless body.  He texted me right away;

We found Grace. I don’t think she’s going to make it. 

Yes, we are talking about a chicken. I get it. Farm animals get eaten by raccoons all the time. But these girls are our pets. Dutch and Heidi love these chickens. We got them as newly hatched chicks, nursed them along in our kitchen, then the kids cared for them these six months. From the very beginning, they could tell them apart. I have no idea how, but from day one, their favorite chick, the very first one they named … was Grace.

Dutch named her. Grace was the chick Heidi would always reach for, to cuddle and take outside into the sun. Grace was the one she’d carry under her arm, a little feathered doll. Grace was the one who had worn the beaded bracelet … as a necklace.

And now the kids hovered over her bloody, mangled body, praying she’d survive. Jeff suggested what made most sense–we must put her out of her misery. The kids were horrified. Never! They would pray! Didn’t we always pray for sickness, for injury of every kind? Didn’t we labor in prayer over those we loved and call on God’s mercy to heal?

Yes, but. Jeff looked at Grace’s broken beak hanging sideways, her smashed bloodied face, and slow, labored breaths. There’s just no way, he thought. Besides, she’s a chicken.

They put her in the shade. Put water beside her, but she couldn’t move and with a broken beak there was no way she could drink. Jeff told the kids it was only a matter of time.

Dutch was resolute. “I’m fasting tonight and praying she lives.”

My eyes widened a bit. An 8-year-old fasting for a chicken? Should I explain that there’s no real biblical basis for fasting for the life of an animal? Well, of course I wouldn’t do that. I saw his heart of faith and held him in my arms, asking God to sort through the sincere prayers of my precious boy and answer in His wisest way.

The next morning, early, Jeff came in from his run. I looked up, one question in my eyes.

“She’s still alive,” he said quietly. She still couldn’t move, couldn’t eat or drink. Her beak still broken off to the side. But hope swelled up in those kids’ hearts. They kept praying.

That afternoon Grace stood on her feet. “Mommy! Let’s get an eyedropper and drop water into her mouth!” But she was tucked away too far underneath the coop, so I filled a squirt bottle with water, crouched down near the ground, and squirted water toward her mouth.

At first she jerked away. Understandably. If someone was hosing me in the face I would turn away. But after a few minutes, she slowly moved her jaw up and down, ever so slightly.

Then she turned toward the water.

Several refills later, she made slow steps. Back and forth, with labored breaths, she walked back and forth beneath the coop. With every squirt she slowly worked her jaws up and down. She still couldn’t open her mouth, but I knew water was getting in there somehow.

Later that afternoon, many water-squirts later, something loosened. Dried blood dissolved. Her mouth opened. The kids cheered. “I knew she’d live!”

It’s just a chicken, you say. But this mundane moment made me vividly see the significance of what we do in life. The truth is, tons of people die of drugs. Overdose. Die on the streets, alone, victims of that roaring lion that prowls around, seeking who he can destroy.

A raccoon is to the chickens what the enemy is to us: A predator.

One who comes to steal, kill, and destroy.

And yes, we heighten fences, but casualties still happen, and I have seen mangled hearts and lives, victims of that roaring lion.

How do we help?

Fast and pray, perhaps squirt water on faces, even when they bristle, back-off, and turn away. One mangled heart at a time:

We nurse Grace to life.

{Thank you for reading.}