Who Made the Chicken Cross the Road?

The sun had just begun its slow descent behind the scattered hills of Zambia’s Northern Province, painting the sky in streaks of gold and crimson. Bedson was on his motorcycle, making his way to an evening evangelism meeting. The dusty road ahead wound through the quiet rural settlement of Impongwe, a place where the pace of life was dictated by the rhythms of farming, livestock, and community gatherings. His mind was on the message he would share that night—words of hope and truth for those who would come.

As he cruised along, a sudden movement caught his eye—a blur of feathers darting from the roadside grass. Before he could react, thump! The motorcycle jolted as a chicken dashed into his path. A puff of white and brown feathers filled the air, and for a moment Bedson’s heart sank. In rural Africa animals are a valuable part of a family’s livelihood. If you kill one, even by accident, you must pay for it. Sometimes the loss of a single chicken could mean several days’ worth of meals or income.

Glancing back, he was relieved to see the bird scrambling off into the grass. It looked shaken but alive. He breathed out, grateful that the matter seemed over. Or so he thought.

A few kilometers farther, as he rounded a bend, he was startled to find a massive log blocking the road. It hadn’t just fallen. It looked deliberate. He slowed, looking for a way around. That’s when two men stepped out of the shadows. Their faces were unreadable, their stance firm.

“This is the man who killed the grandmother’s chicken,” one of them said flatly.

Bedson froze. “The chicken? It ran off the road—I didn’t . . .”

They didn’t seem interested in explanations. They named their price: compensation for the chicken plus 12 eggs, each at 100 kwacha (roughly US$4.50). The demand was steep—far more than the value of the animal—but it was clear this was about more than a chicken. Their tone carried an unspoken threat: if he didn’t pay, there would be consequences.

Before the situation could escalate, a woman appeared from the shadows. She looked from the men to Bedson and then said firmly, “This is the man who has been preaching at my church. Please, be reasonable.”

There was a pause; then the men grudgingly told him to come back the next day so they could settle the matter. That night Bedson prayed for wisdom and peace. When he returned the following day, they told him, to his surprise, that they would let the matter go. No payment. No further demands. The tension seemed to dissolve as quickly as it had appeared.

The following evening Bedson was again at the evangelism meeting, speaking to a crowd gathered under the open night sky. But as he began, his eyes caught a familiar figure. The bigger of the two men from the roadblock was sitting in the front row, staring intently at him. For a moment Bedson’s heart pounded. Has he come to cause trouble?

Yet the man stayed quiet, listening through the entire message. And then he came back the next night. And the night after that. Each time, his expression softened, his posture more open. By the end of the week this same man—once a stranger demanding payment for a chicken—approached with a completely different purpose.

“I want to study the Bible,” he said simply.

What had begun as a tense roadside confrontation ended with a man stepping toward faith. Bedson couldn’t help marveling at the strange chain of events. The chicken that crossed his path—whether it had been a random accident or part of a divine appointment—had led to an encounter that might never have happened otherwise.

In the end the story became more than just a humorous “Why did the chicken cross the road?” tale. It was a reminder that often the interruptions, inconveniences, and even the misunderstandings in life are part of a bigger picture we can’t yet see. I can hear the famous quote from The Desire of Ages hanging in the air: “God never leads His children otherwise than they would choose to be led, if they could see the end from the beginning, and discern the glory of the purpose which they are fulfilling as coworkers with Him.”[i] 

That night in Impongwe, under the bright African stars, Bedson realized once again that God can use even a chicken crossing the road to change the life of someone searching for Him!

Riverside Farm Institute has remote church planters like Bedson in 40 locations around the country sharing the good news every day. The institute is a supporting ministry of the Seventh-day Adventist Church.

[i] Ellen G. White, The Desire of Ages (Mountain View, Calif.: Pacific Press Pub. Assn., 1898, 1940), pp. 224, 225.