When I was a young motherless girl, I lived with my grandmother in the mountains of North Carolina. We had all sorts of wonderful animals on her farm and I was enthralled with them. Because of my own wounded state, I felt a special affinity to any creature that was hurt or endangered and I desperately tried to save them when I could.
One day as my grandmother and I were walking along the pond, we found a duck egg on the dock. In my mind, this treasure needed saving! Although my grandmother was in favor of making an omelet, I pleaded with her to give the egg to our turkey. This particular turkey was made to be a mother, but she was unable to lay eggs. Mamma Turkey would lovingly pluck feathers from her breast, make a nest, and sit awaiting an egg that would never come. Reluctantly my grandma agreed that we could give this lonely yet to be hatchling to the turkey. I think she was convinced the egg would be a dud, but I was determined to give the baby duck a chance.
This was a match made in heaven. Mamma Turkey tenderly sat upon her beloved egg, turned it, and talked to it. Through the shell, Little Duck was listening and imprinting with its Mamma. The day arrived when Little Duck hatched! From that first moment, Mamma was filled with a new sense of purpose and she took great care in instructing Little Duck how to be a turkey. Little Duck was never even aware that he was, in fact, a duck and I suspect Mamma Turkey was so blinded by love she never saw the difference either.
Our happy little farm was filled with other ducks, but Little Duck walked, talked, and quacked just like a turkey all the days of his life. He never ever went near the water and proceeded to ignore all of the other waterfowl. In his little bird brain, he was no duck; he was ALL turkey. My young heart was overjoyed to have played a part in finding just the right mother for him.
My grandmother was an artist and when I moved away, she would draw little pictures of our duckling. She would even write stories of his adventures and we ended up calling him, "The Perky Turkey Duck." It occurs to me that we are supposed to imprint with our heavenly father just like the duckling did with his adopted mother. We are supposed to be so bonded to him that the things of this world fade into the background and we hear only Him. And when he looks at us, our Father doesn't see our sins or weaknesses. He sees only that we are His and that He himself has made us perfect with His love.
Deborah is a military wife and mother of two children. It is her goal to approach moral ambivalence armed with strong opinions rooted in scripture (lively debate encouraged) and with an open, kind heart. She desires to engage both seekers and believers alike that Christ may be glorified.