In the last few weeks of brooding almost 40 birds in our bathroom, I’ve learned a few things about chicks and quail:
They will poop on new bedding before you even finish laying it down.
They will poop in their new dish of food before you leave the room.
They will poop in their water before you turn your back.
Aaaaand quail look dead when they’re sleeping.
That last point, at least, I knew ahead of time, and it’s a good thing I did. During the first week there was often a moment of panic as we looked in the brooder to see them passed out, collapsed on their sides, legs out. But that’s just how they sleep.
They’re great, though: snuggly, nosy, clumsy, and messy. The water dish was their favorite hangout when they were small enough to walk in it – sometimes for drinking, but mostly for wading and splashing, and then tracking little wet toe prints everywhere. They thought they were ducks, though I told them otherwise.
We lost one within hours of bringing them home (truly dead quail differ from sleeping quail in that they’re cold, stiff, and not breathing) but the other 19 are happy and healthy in spite of our complete lack of experience. A week after we got the quail, our chicks arrived, and even the sick one we thought we’d lose managed to pull through. We call her Toughie.
And, can I interrupt this bird trivia to just point out how amazing that is? Isn’t it incredible that we can just take something on that we’ve never done before, and still muddle through with success?
I mean, it hasn’t been super easy. We’ve spent months researching, learning, gathering supplies, and building shelters for them. But as with most things, deciding to do the work is almost harder than actually doing the work.
During the first week, I often woke up at 3 am, anxious about how they were doing. I ran downstairs, opened the door, and heard their soft, happy twittering; they were fine, all nineteen, scattered and sleeping and eating and climbing all over each other. They thought they were puppies, even though I reminded them they are quail.
But there was that one time they weren’t all fine…when we went from twenty to nineteen because one of them was cold and stiff under the heat lamp. So for a split second when I opened the door and saw them asleep, looking dead, I would get a little nervous. We remember those times when things weren’t fine, and try to guard ourselves against the uglier parts of normal.
Because it’s not just quail that look dead when they’re sleeping: See also deciduous trees, rose bushes, and hobbies that get shoved to the back of the closet. But bigger things, too – like creativity, achievement, solutions, dreams, and goals. Certain relationships. Breakthrough.
Each time one of those falls asleep, we wonder if it’s actually dead. Should we give up on it? Because we’ve seen death, and it leaves a little scar of trust issues and anxiety to work through every time we encounter anything that resembles it. Is this worth resuscitating? Do we nurse it back to health? Do we keep feeding and watering it in faith, or do we pull the plug and move on to the other 19 needs vying for our attention?
Some things just need time and surrender, but others need persistent attention.
For example, my houseplant that we affectionately call Anne Shirley. As soon as she (or it, I don’t care – don’t come to me with pronoun nonsense) feels the slightest bit parched or neglected, she wilts in the depths of despair.
The first time it happened, I thought I killed her for sure. Woomp – all leaves down, this one’s a goner.
But I felt the stems, and they seemed okay. So I gave her some water, and lo and behold – the next day, Anne Shirley was as perky as ever. Such a drama queen.
(My glorious fern, on the other hand, is a different story. We’ve started calling her Eleanor – as in, Dashwood – because if she’s neglected she will just slowly turn paler and paler, suffering in silence.)
So some things must be watered, and others must be waited for.
And many require both. We water in the waiting, not knowing how long it will take to see life again. These are the situations the Lord must move in, because you cannot force growth – overwatering results in death as much as neglect does – and He must perform the rescue because we’ve tried everything and still it is stiff and cold, not breathing: A loved one’s salvation, a child’s return, a favorable ruling. After we’ve done everything we know to do, we’re desperate for what only He can do.
But this is what He does. When life is in the red, He intervenes out of the blue in ways we never could have imagined.
And he said to them, “Why are you troubled, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? See my hands and my feet, that it is I myself. Touch me, and see. For a spirit does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.” And when he had said this, he showed them his hands and his feet. And while they still disbelieved for joy and were marveling, he said to them, “Have you anything here to eat?”
– Luke 24:38-41, ESV
This life of watering and waiting is where faith and obedience intersect. It is the lesson of walking steadily on without constantly checking progress, checking email, checking notifications, checking the mailbox. Faith and obedience knows the answer is coming, and does not have to constantly ask “Are we there yet?” like a kid on a road trip.
You’ve done and are doing what you need to do. So give them time, they’ll perk up soon. Those situations might think they’re dead —- you need to remind them they are alive.
The trees outside know; the pussywillows are growing again. The time for things to wake up is here.
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Related: What if you see the rescue coming, and it scares you? The newsletter comes out next week and this is what we’re talking about. Sign up here if you need it.
