Saturday, April 03, 2010


Tiny yellow wings flapped in my pint-sized hands.  The chick's little feet felt sticky and scratchy, as she pranced around on my palm, trying to dig her baby claws into new ground.   I wanted to caress her, and I wanted to let her go.  I wanted to stroke her fuzzy coat, and I wanted to give her back to the old chicken farmer.  As a child, I was always intimidated by what I did not know, and forty years ago, a special visit with my grandfather to see one of his farmer friends was my first time to hold a baby chick and my first look into a chicken house.

The woods of North Georgia are full of chicken houses and chicken farmers.  And except for their undeniable, diffusive, distinctive smell, chicken houses were an enigma to me until that warm day when I rode with my grandpa in his beat-up pick-up to visit a friend who had bunches of new chicks.

It was a bumpy, breezy ride of expectation and intimidation.  I was going to hold a baby chicken!  The anticipation seemed beyond bearable, as I sat in that old Ford that smelled two parts vinyl, one part oil, and one part Brylcreem.  I wondered how it would feel to have cotton fluff rub against my hand.  And I wondered if my fear of God's sweet creatures would deprive me of the possibility of loving one little bird.

Papa and I got out and greeted the kind, rugged gentlemen.  He showed us one of his chicken houses, which was flooded with waves of golden color and sounds of peeps that echoed from the tin roof.  The farmer took one of the maizey wee ones in his giant, sun-damaged hands, and we all walked down to a grassy spot and stood.

My chance to hold the chirping chick had arrived.  I stiffened my arms and reached, as she was given to my care.  War was on the minute her soft, wee self was placed in my palm.  I tried to not be afraid, but all I could think of was the strangeness of her twiglike feet and razor beak.  My grandfather's patriarchal voice kept saying, "That little chicken can't hurt you, Andrea. Let her walk around in your hand.  Dont' be scared." 

But, I was "scared."  And the tiny yellow being grasped my awed heart.  She was not happy and wanted out, so the old chicken farmer reached over me and gently took her back, while freedom and guilt covered me like a cold rain.

I left in disappointment.  So much for fear-blinding love.  My ten-year old heart felt failure.  You might say I did not earn my Easter wings. 

Today, forty years after my visit to the chicken farm, I have Easter wings; yet, they are not earned.  They are not able to be earned.  They are not earthly symbols.  They are divine substance.  They are truth.  They are real.

My Easter wings are freedom, love, hope, faith, peace, mercy, and more.  I received them through grace, God's unmerited favor.  Jesus earned them for me. He paid for my wings, my eternal freedom.  With His own life's blood, I am redeemed.  I was purchased with such a high price, though I am such an unworthy one.

Jesus paid for my Easter wings with thirty-nine flogs from the cruel cat of nine tails; a crown of thorns that ever so painfully pierced through His submitted scalp; many abusive voices of prejudice, ridicule, and violence against His innocence; soldiers' saliva on His divine face; bruising blows that beat His humble body beyond identity; a heavy, half-mile walk of stones, spit, and dreaded death; six hours of unimaginable pain from six-inch nails, profuse blood loss, and slow suffocation; and six hours of dark chasm between Himself and His Father that finally ended in Christ's sacrificial death, as He cried, "It is finished" (John 19:30, NIV).

Christ's completed His sacrifice, then, hope was realized and fulfilled, when three days after Jesus' divine offering, our destiny was forever changed.

Divine life and light poured from heavenly dimension into Christ's cavelike tomb and into His mortal body.

With power and victory and truth, Jesus rose from death to forever defeat its hold on us. 

Now, failure no longer means failed, fear no longer means defeat, sin no longer means sure condemnation, and dying no longer means death!

Because of Jesus' life, His blood offering, His sacrifice, His obedience to the Father, and His victory over death, I have Easter wings. 

"Wings" are a way of flight or ascent, and my Easter wings are my source for soaring with Jesus.  Abundant life now.  Victory forever.  And one special, God-chosen day, my Easter wings will fly me home and right into His arms.

Praying for you, dear friend, as you soar with Christ through Easter and the week ahead,

Sources:,, and wikipedia.


  1. Beautiful post Andrea....This year my spirit feels so full of praise and thanksgiving for my risen Savior more than ever before.

  2. Eagle's wings! We soar on pinions.

    I love the new look on your blog, Andrea. How fitting for resurrection reflections.

    Blessings to you & yours,

  3. Amen Andrea! What joy to understand our wings are a gift. Purchased with the highest price imaginable, but received by faith and surrender. Give us courage Lord, to hold on to those baby chicks You wants us to experience!

  4. Andrea, this was beautiful. When I was a child, my dad took me to a man who raised quail. When he opened the incubator, the tiny chicks would jump out like popcorn popping out of a pan. He would swoop down, pick up the tiny chick about the size of a cotton ball and put it back in the box, then another would pop out. It was so funny seeing them jump out, but little did I know he was selling them for people to raise to eat. My dad bought some of them and took them home and put them in a cage and started feeding them. I, of course, made pets out of them and when I found out he was going to eat them, I put up a hissy fit. Needless to say, he didn't carry out his plans, but took them back to the man to please me. Poor little babies. So tiny, so fragile, so doomed...

  5. Easter Wings for soaring with Jesus, what a wonderful thought! Beautifully expressed!
    Happy Resurrection Day Andrea!

  6. Andrea,

    This is beautiful! You've captured my heart with these words.

    I can see me responding to the baby chick just the way that you did.

    And I so need those wings...the power of Easter...what the death and the resurrection of our precious Savior means.

    Thank you for praying for me.

    Will call you this evening.



    Sweet dreams.

  7. Makes me wish I had experienced a chicken farm while growing up...

    You have such a beautiful way with your words and re-telling a memory. It's a story worth telling again and again.

    Easter wings.

    Wearing mine today thanks be to God and God alone!!!


  8. Andrea:

    I didn't want this beautiful Easter Sunday to end before I came by and said HAPPY EASTER!

    "Easter wings"... I love that. I am so aware of His sacrifice for my sins. And I KNOW the reason I have those wings, and I am so thankful.

    Love to you my friend, and now we look forward to spring, and new beginnings!


  9. What a beautiful post! I pray your Easter was wonderful!

  10. :Easter wings"--I love this image. Yes, I've been granted a set by the Father, too--equally undeserved.

  11. Thanks for reminding us of the source -- and the cost -- of our wings.

    Blessings, Andrea -- and Happy Easter everyday.

  12. Thank the Lord, we can spread our wings, because He lives! Hope you had a wonderful Easter!

  13. Thank you for each devotion you write. Our Easter celebration was wonderful; we have such a faithful Redeemer!

  14. I love the analogy of Easter wings. This Easter was special for me too as the truth of the resurrected Savior spoke to my heart more than in the past.

    Thanks for visiting my blog so I could find yours.

  15. What a lovely post. Your writing style is really wonderful...and of course the content brings such a timely reminder. Thank you for visiting my blog today. Your comment was very touching. I look forward to reading more of your posts.

  16. Easter this, Andrea!

  17. Hi Andrea, thank you for visiting my blog and leaving a comment.

    I enjoyed your pretty blog.

    I would love to hold to little chicken too. Once we raised chicken and as kids we have plenty of opurtunity do do so.

  18. Thanks for you comment on my blog. I rarely get time to visit others, but I love to hear from anyone in the south, especially Christians. My people came to Alabama in the 1800's.

  19. Because He lives, I live!

    Oh glory!

  20. Thanks for your sweet comment on my blog. Beautiful post. I will be back soon to read more.

  21. Wow, this is beautiful! Love the way you tell this story and couldn't agree more with its message. Thank you for sharing! Looking forward to visiting again soon! = )

  22. Hi Andrea,
    What a great way to remember the resurrection of our dear Lord...indeed He gives us wings to soar up high... to meet our destiny where it is kept safe, far from the evil schemes of the enemy.

    I have always loved the thought of soaring high on eagles wings... wings enable us to reach great heights. Contrast that with the bottom dwelling enemy of our soul. That is the depth to which he has fallen, and that is where he seeks to drag us, and keep us.

    But our God gives us wings! And enables us to use them with skill and agility!

    Thank you for this post.


  23. Just checking in to see what's new...

    We're enjoying our time in the mountains and hope to go antiquing today. Thank you for you prayers for me and my family; please know I've been praying for you and yours as well.

    Keep me posted on everything.



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In the Wonderful Love of Christ our Savior,