Good Egg

I purchase eggs from a church friend. Her chickens produce extra eggs which she sells and delivers.  Usually, there’s a slight variation in color, and a little in size.

Not this time.


I apologize for the ginormity of the picture, but a smaller image didn’t do it justice.

Ruby spotted the littlest egg right away.

“Aww! It’s so cute!” she squealed.  Then she wanted to eat it.  Not too creepy.

“Maybe if they left it in longer it would have gotten bigger, ” she postulated.

No.  It wouldn’t.  Eggs, once  expelled, don’t grow anymore, I explained as I scrambled all our eggs together. Ruby, a preemie herself, figured everyone should be given the chance to get just a bit bigger if possible.

I cracked the teeny egg into the white bowl.  Its yolk glowed vivid orange like a mini setting sun as it slid to the bottom.  Perfect, yet so small.

If Ruby had gotten bigger, would she still be the same – a mighty mite of a girl, fearless, funny, flawed and all of 48 lbs? I wonder.

I say our beauty is wrapped up in our uniqueness.  We try to flatten it out and make it look like the media force-feed.  We straighten the curls and waves.  We cinch in our belts to be uber slim. We pretend to fit in.  Ultimately, we can’t overcome our genetic code or our wild uniqueness. Our individuality brands us as one-of-a-kind.  We don’t all like Thai food.  Some of us like smelly cheeses.  And some of us come in tiny packages.

The box of eggs pictured above looks nothing like supermarket eggs.  Those pale cousins have been homogenized, possibly colored and sorted to matchy-match in a pleasing palette of white.  But that’s not real life, folks.  We need each other, quirks and all. We need to be ourselves because the world needs us. Thank God.

I apologize for not blogging yesterday, dear readers.  I’m still trying to get used to my new work schedule.



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