Do You Think God Loves Animals?
We know God is the first and greatest Artist—painting horizons in colors we can’t name and filling the world with every shape of creature, from the smallest creeping thing to the birds that sweep the sky.
Genesis 1 tells us He created humans and animals, and Psalm 50:10–11 reminds us:
“For every beast of the forest is mine, the cattle on a thousand hills. I know all the birds of the hills, and all that moves in the field is mine.”
Scripture repeatedly shows God’s care for His creatures—protecting them during the Flood, feeding them in due season, and placing them under the stewardship of mankind.
So yes—God loves animals.
And because He loves them, we are called to care well for the ones entrusted to us.
The First Loss On The Farm
This week, we experienced our first loss here on the property.
For years, a beautiful brown owl has lived here—faithfully keeping the mice and pests at bay, a quiet nighttime guardian of the farm. The previous owner spoke fondly of her, and we’d grown to appreciate her presence too.
But on Friday morning, everything changed.
We let the dog out, and he found her lying face-down in the mud. Her wings were stretched wide. She twitched, almost seizing, fighting to sit upright only to tip over again. She wasn’t scared of us. She wasn’t trying to fly. She was suffering.
We hoped she was merely stunned and watched for fifteen long minutes.
When nothing improved, we called the local wildlife rehab organizations and were quickly connected with the Audubon Society, who directed us to a vet who could help.
But before we could get her there, she took her last breath.
Luke was with her at the end. He said it looked painful, and we still don’t know what happened. But the loss hit us harder than we expected. We’ll miss her nighttime calls, the soft echo through the trees, her unseen but faithful work keeping our little ecosystem in balance.
Life Arrives the Same Morning
While preparing to bury Mrs. Owl, we made a surprising discovery—our broody hen had become a mama overnight.
Eight tiny chicks, warm beneath her wings.
Eight fragile new lives, chirping soft reminders that God’s rhythms of life and death often run right next to each other.
As we watched her gather them close, Ecclesiastes 3 came to mind:
“There is a time for everything…
a time to be born and a time to die…
a time to weep and a time to laugh.”
And in the span of a single hour, we lived all four.
The kids weren’t too emotional about the owl—they’d never interacted with her—but Luke and I felt the weight of it. Yet at the same time, the joy of the chicks lifted us. Sorrow and celebration braided themselves together, as they often do on a farm.
When one of our Cinnamon Queens went broody, I didn’t have the heart to keep taking her eggs. But, since we don’t have a rooster, she would never be able to hatch her own babies and I couldn’t resist. I negotiated a trade with my neighbor; fertilized eggs for winter squash. We placed 11 fertilized eggs under her one mid-January night and our patience has paid off! This week, she welcomed 8 baby chicks (out of the 11 fertilized eggs we placed under her). We were told the eggs were from a barn yard mix, so we’re not sure what we got or what colored eggs we’ll get when these chickens begin to lay.
The Reality of Farm Life
If the Lion King taught us anything, it’s that the circle of life is real—and on a farm, it’s no gentle metaphor. It’s truth lived out in mud and feathers and seasons that don’t ask our permission.
I’m grateful our first loss was a creature we loved from a distance. And I’m equally grateful that the very next moment brought new life to soften the sting.
The kids were thrilled—holding the tiny chicks, whispering names, amazed that life could appear so suddenly. And in that joy, I felt something like healing.
But I also know this is only the beginning.
In the spring, we’ll welcome over 30 meat chickens. We’ll raise them with care, steward them well, and eventually harvest them to fill our freezer. That too will be a lesson for our family—one rooted in respect, gratitude, and the understanding that God designed creation to nourish us in more ways than one.
Grace in Every Season
Even in this small loss, God was near. His Word steadies us:
“Even though I walk through the valley
of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil, for You are with me.”
—Psalm 23:4
Life on the farm is already teaching us that sorrow and joy aren’t opposites—they’re companions. Loss opens our hands; new life fills them again. And through it all, God is faithful, shaping us through every season.
We’re thankful for this land, these creatures, and the gift of shepherding our children through moments like this—trusting God, the Good Shepherd, who watches over every hill, every sparrow, and every heart.