Blessings on the Colony

Jacob Hofer grunted softly as he leaned forward, his perfectly manicured hands wrapping around the edge of the heavy wooden crate. His bright red nails sparkled in the morning sun, catching flecks of dust and the scent of hay and feathers. He adjusted his stance, heels clicking softly on the packed dirt floor of the chicken barn as he straightened. The ache in his lower back twinged again—sharp and familiar. Not terrible, but persistent, like an old companion. A reminder that he was nearing sixty, and that God had granted him a long and fruitful life.

He didn’t complain. Not ever. Pain was part of the walk. A small price to pay for so many decades of grace.

Jacob reached up to pull a piece of straw that had found its way into his salt-and-pepper hair, and his fingertips brushed the edge of his soft, painted cheek. His lipstick, a glossy mulberry tone, had stayed on perfectly through the morning chores, despite the humidity in the barn. He pressed his lips together and gave a small nod of satisfaction. Christina had kissed him goodbye after breakfast, told him his heels looked “so sweet they made her stomach flutter.” He’d blushed, of course. They always flirted now, like they were young again.

And in a way, they were.

Jacob glanced down at his outfit. A tight leather miniskirt, deep brown with belt loops he didn’t need, rode high on his hips. He shifted slightly, the skirt creaking softly against his thighs, and smoothed a wrinkle in the fabric. It had become his favorite—one of three that had appeared in his closet the day of the skirt blessing. He could still remember the panic—his work trousers vanishing mid-prayer. But then the laughter. The joy. He hadn’t seen Brother Mark smile that wide since the birth of his fourth daughter. And now the skirts were just normal. Divine. The colony called them their “joy sashes.”

His shirt, blue plaid, clung lightly to his chest. Beneath it lay the soft, lacy cups of his white bra underneath. He reached down to adjust the underwire. It was silly how much he liked the snug fit, the way it supported his small chest and emphasized his tiny, blessed waist. Even the daily struggle of walking in high-heeled boots—dust-covered and stained with straw—had become second nature. He clicked across the barn floor with a kind of grace he never would’ve imagined for himself.

He paused near one of the cages, stooping carefully—back aching again—to scoop out a handful of soiled straw and fluff. The chickens clucked contentedly, their coop cozy and warm.

“Thank you, Lord,” Jacob murmured, tossing the waste into a nearby bin. “Thank you for making this a sweet morning. For giving us your blessings. For taking our pride, and giving us peace.”

He wiped his hands—now soft and free of callouses—on a cloth hanging from the stall post. His eyes flicked up to see Joseph on the far side of the barn, his blue plaid work shirt fluttering as he leaned into a coop. Joseph’s own leather skirt was white today, matching his painted toes and his glimmering lipstick. They’d grown up together, Joseph and Jacob. Shared chores and fights and prayers.

When the world had started to change, they’d stood together in the chapel, fearing what it meant. Back then, they thought the changes were the work of the Devil.

But that was before the joy came. Before the healing. Before the softness and the peace and the shedding of ****. The changes, the blessings, had healed the colony, brought them closer together.

For the briefest moment Jacob felt something familiar, a shift, a moment of uncertainty.

Jacob sighed and stood fully upright, pressing his dainty hand against the small of his back—

And blinked.

The pain was gone.

Not eased. Not lessened.

Gone.

He looked down at his hand, the one he'd just rubbed against the old ache.

It was still dainty, of course, fingers long and slim, the skin smooth and radiant under the barn’s soft light. But it wasn’t just soft. It was strong. Energized. Young.

Something flickered in his chest.

“Joseph?” he called, his voice lifting in that eternally flirty lilt they all shared now. “Joseph, come here a moment, would you?”

But Joseph was already looking at him—his hands covering his mouth, eyes wide and glowing with wonder. And then, as if his body couldn’t help it, he squealed. A high-pitched, bubbly little sound, and he kicked up one heeled foot behind him in delight.

“Jacob!” Joseph cried, and came running.

Click-click-click-click—the rapid staccato of stilettos on packed earth filled the barn as Joseph closed the distance. His long strawberry-pink nails fluttered as he ran, skirt bouncing high with each step. And as he came closer, Jacob saw it:

Joseph had changed too.

His wrinkles were gone. His hair thick and glossy again, curling softly behind his ears. His lips, still glossy and full, curved in youthful joy.

He looked eighteen.

“You—!” Joseph gasped, skidding to a stop and grabbing Jacob’s hands. “You’ve gone young too! You look—oh, Jacob, you look exactly like you did when we joined the work crew!”

Jacob blinked again. And finally, finally, the weight in his limbs told the truth.

The energy.

The strength.

The smooth glide of motion. No pain. No tightness. No hesitation in his joints.

“I—I think it’s happened again,” he said, eyes shining. “I think He’s done it. I think He’s blessed us.”

Another glitch. Another miracle. Another gift.

Joseph grabbed him by the shoulders, their fingertips digging softly into the gauzy fabric of Jacob’s blouse. “This is—this is incredible.”

Jacob laughed, voice ringing with freedom and power and joy. “Praise God!”

“Praise Him!” Joseph echoed, throwing his arms around Jacob’s shoulders, their skirts swishing together in soft harmony. “He’s made us young again!”

They twirled. Right there in the dusty barn. Two Hutterite men, faces painted, lips plush and pink, heels gleaming beneath leather skirts, twirling like children under the eyes of the clucking chickens.

Jacob felt the sting of tears in his mascara-lined eyes. The scent of straw and fresh air filled his lungs.

He hadn’t felt this way in decades. The strength in his thighs, the way his waist curved as he spun. The joy was more than physical. It was sacred.

“I can’t believe it,” Joseph whispered, cheeks flushed. “I didn’t even notice at first. I thought—my heels, I thought they felt easier to walk in. And then I saw my hands and I screamed.”

Jacob giggled, his glossy lips pulling wide. “You did scream.”

“I did!”

And they collapsed against each other, laughing, skirts twisted, hands interlaced with shining nails and boundless youth.

Later that afternoon, they would celebrate with the rest of the colony. Later they would pray and give thanks, and Christina would kiss Jacob like she did on their wedding night. Later he would dance through the fields, his boots light and his heart lighter.

But for now—

Now, in the dusty warmth of the chicken barn, among feathers and wire and straw, two young-again men gave thanks.

God was still blessing them.