Eggs from the farm

Eggs from the farm

Look at these eggs. I doubled back, putting the five dollars in the envelope in the cooler that said “Fresh Eggs.” I took the last two dozen. Quite a bargain, I think. The cooler had done its job. It could rest quietly in front of its farm. I pass this farm when I run a lot, but never noticed the “Fresh Eggs” cooler out front. I must have been running slow enough today to see the sign.

I cracked open the cartons. Each one of these eggs is unique. Beautiful. I picked several out and studied them.  I marveled that so many eggs could have so many characteristics. I marveled at this fact.

“You need some serious help,” said one of the voices in my head.

“What a nerd,” said another.

“Don’t you have anything more important to do than stare at the color of eggs?”

I answered them.

“Absolutely. I have exams to grade, curriculum to standardize, I probably should shower, and my favorite Twitter chat’s coming up in a half hour. But…these…eggs…are….stunning.”

“Stunning? Get some help. Shoulda used the five dollars for a copay,” said the voice before going silent. I’m not listening anyway.

Look…at…these…eggs. Every one is different. Unique. Perfect. The way life should let us be.  It shouldn’t put us cartons marked the same, “Grade A Medium White,” or “Extra Large Brown.” Whoa to the egg just a little bit larger, a little bit of a different color, and God help the double yolk.

Nature shows us uniqueness should be celebrated. Creativity, beauty, different thinking, the road less taken. I struggle when I see hate, discrimination, or pressure to conform. I’m sad when I see standardization, negative peer pressure, or the desire to churn out people who are all uniquely…the same. It seems to be the trend in society today. Maybe that’s because I’ve always been like the egg that never quite fit in the carton at the factory when they were measuring.

But these eggs…every single one says, “I have personality! There’s no one like me!”

Being unique is what makes us beautiful. It’s what makes me want to live. It is the magic of life. Strange that I can see it in something as ordinary, or maybe not so ordinary…as an egg.