This morning, while sitting on the deck with my husband contemplating the day, the weekend ahead, the clouds, and the virtues of coffee, I had the urge to tell him something I’ve never said before. Actually, it’s something I’ve never even thought before. “The other night, when I was taking my pills before bed,” I told him out of the blue, “I thought to myself how easy it would be to take all of them at once. I would just never wake up.” He looked at me sharply, because that is not like me at all. I’m not the type of person to have deep existential thoughts about creation, and the universe, and life, and certainly not one to consider ending it. I’m not sure why I had such a strange and unsettling thought, maybe because I was exhausted, and in a moment of weakness, felt sorry for myself. Whatever the reason, the thought was gone as quickly as it came, and I was left wondering why I thought that in the first place.
“We are so fragile,” he said. “we could die so easily, in so many ways.” I thought about that for a minute, then replied, “yeah, people are fragile, but they can also be tough and resilient too, kind of like an egg.” We both sat in silence for a few seconds until he said, “yeah, you can squeeze an egg with all your might, and it won’t break, that’s pretty strong.” “But,” I said, “one little bump will crack one, it’s really amazing how they are made.”
It’s amazing how we are made too. We were both quiet for a few minutes, and I thought how God created us to be strong and fragile too, like an egg. Neither will ever get broken or cracked if it just sits there, undisturbed, but then neither one is of any use. It is only when an egg is cracked and broken and it’s fragileness is exposed, that it’s goodness can pour out, allowing it to do what it was created for; to feed and to nourish. That smooth, beautiful, now useless shell is discarded and the egg becomes something else entirely, its broken state makes it beneficial to someone else. The smack that cracked the egg no longer seems violent, it is evident that this was necessary to expose its usefulness to others.
A person can take a lot of stress before cracking, some more than others. I used to believe that true strength was the ability to withstand an enormous amount of pressure without cracking, but now I see that real strength means to allow yourself to be molded into something else. Each trauma, drama and stress in life can feel like it is meant to break you, but what if what is revealed through the crack is more beautiful and useful to someone else than a cold, hard shell could ever be? Would it be worth it? Would you willingly allow yourself pain and brokenness if it meant you could feed someone else? I’d like to think I would, but cracking hurts, and I’m not sure that I would ever choose for myself some of the things that God has allowed me to go through. But, just as a cook with a sure and steady hand, cracks an egg to get to the center, so too does God change us into something we would not be if we just sat cold and undisturbed in a carton. The cook does not even consider putting an untouched egg on a plate before it has been cracked, beaten, seasoned and prepared, because that it is useless. My cracks, as painful as they are at the time, are worth it to me, if it means that I will be transformed. I could choose to sit there, whole and tough but what good is that to anyone? I’ve heard God called a Potter before, but I think he is probably a really good Cook too, the kind of cook that doesn’t need a recipe and never burns his cookies.
We sat in a silence for another minute or two, just enjoying each other, and the beauty of the morning, a moment to gather our strength before we got caught up in the whirlwind that is Saturday. The clouds scuttled by, while the breeze blew my hair, the wash on the line, and cooled the last few sips of my coffee. “Well,” I thought to myself, as I broke my reverie, reluctantly uncrossing my legs and getting up from the glider, “time to get crackin’.”
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