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My daughter, Amanda, had recently turned 21, and I was ready for her to leave home. Yes, I was! I know there are some mothers who say they never want their children to leave, but I am not one of them. As a matter of fact, I'm an advocate of the old saying: "Every hen needs her own nest!"

Amanda was a good girl. I trusted her. She and her college friends were involved in many church activities. The problem was that she was trying to be the top chicken of our nest. If you know anything about pecking order in the bird kingdom, you know what I mean. For those who don't, let me explain.

In bird flocks, there is a top bird that bosses and pecks on the second bird, and she bosses and pecks on the third bird, and so on. Amanda wanted to make her own decisions, which is a good thing. But many times those decisions conflicted with the "mother bird's" decisions. Basically, she didn't want to do what I said. To put it in bird lingo, she had outgrown the nest. Time to fly!

So, this mother bird began to talk with her chick about getting her own apartment, perhaps with a couple of girlfriends. This seemed like a good solution to me because I would be nearby if she needed help, but she could be independent and make her own decisions. At 21, I thought this reasonable. She worked as an assistant to our church youth pastor, and I felt confident she would be fine.

There was only one problem: Amanda didn't want to move out. No, she wanted to stay at home and do as she pleased. After all, she lived in a very nice nest, and if she had to pay for her own nest, her finances would not stretch far enough to do all the "fun" things she enjoyed.

What to do? I began to imagine her at 40 years of age—still living at home—and became even more determined.

"Dear God," I prayed, "please help Amanda to find her own nest soon. I know we'd both be happier and …"

"Peep, peep!" I heard faint chirping. It sounded like a baby bird. I looked outside on the patio, but saw nothing. "Peep, peep, peep!" There it was again, and it seemed so close.

I looked out the dining room window and there, on the windowsill, just inches from my nose, perched a big, fluffy bird. It sat really still, but was "peeping" up a storm now.

The bird was quite large, with gray feathers. For some reason, despite my proximity, it didn't fly away. Then a mockingbird flew up to the windowsill, carrying a cricket in its beak. As I watched, it stuffed the insect into the first bird's gaping mouth.

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