I wrote yesterday about the recurrence of egg references throughout my day. I saw a bunch of fresh eggs in the early morning at a local farm, and egg shapes on my yoga mat. I heard a conversation on public radio about the longevity and shelf stability of eggs, and eggs were featured in the latest recording of one of my favorite culinary tv shows. I love symbols, and I was open to the possibility that God was directing my eyes toward eggs for some reason yesterday. Maybe they signified luck, or new life, or resurrection, or none of the above, but I was committed to letting the connection come to me, and not strive for an answer as I have done so many times before.
When I relayed the egg-instances to my husband, he picked out details I had totally missed. Tim loved the part about the farmer lovingly doting on each egg, washing them carefully and taking care to dry them on a white fluffy towel. It’s true, the man was extraordinarily kind and gentle. When I entered the farm store, he called to me from the back room of the barn where he was peacefully, methodically, and tenderly at his task. He took the multi-page paperwork I had dropped off for my daughter, asked if I had made a copy, and carefully stapled it together. He assured me he would put it in the appropriate mailbox right away and direct it where it should go. He filled me in on details about interviews for the ice-cream scooping job my daughter hopes to get for the summer, and wished her well. He smiled at me with kind eyes. And it occurred to me: in all of my musing on eggs, I had totally forgotten the Farmer.
Like the farmer, the Holy Spirit takes our messy offerings and makes sense out of them. He directs our dreams and opens doors of possibility. He makes things happen behind the scenes. He lovingly cares for each life, washing them in baptism, and keeping them safe until they’re ready to be shared with the world. Like us, eggs are sometimes broken, and meant to sustain others with the goodness that fills us.
I find I’m always looking for stuff: help, inspiration, change, new life. I look for it so closely, and with such introspection sometimes, that I often miss the Farmer. Some of my most trusted spiritual advisors have been telling me this for a while, but it took my experience with this kind, quiet man, and my husband’s perspective, to see that I don’t need to look for stuff. I need to direct my gaze to God, and trust Him to take care of the stuff for me. He is worthy of my trust. He’s in the back room every morning, long before I’m even awake, arranging things for my day, caring for the lives around me, and making all things new. Thank you, Lord, amen, amen, amen.
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