I thought we were just learning how to crack an egg.

But we were learning about life and fears and overcoming messy situations. 

He was crying.  I was crying.  And all we were learning to do was crack an egg into the Vitamix to make coconut pancakes. 

Two weeks ago I started working out at a gym with a trainer.  This was HUGE for me. 

But cracking an egg with my son revealed my fears about entering an atmosphere that intimidates me. 

The morning of pancakes, eggs, and tears began when a superhero desiring to learn how to crack an egg like his brother bolted into the kitchen. 

I initially said no.  (You know you would to. It is easier to do it yourself.)  I am often that No Mom, a title I  would love to slough off but comes so naturally to me.  I envisioned a 10 minute process becoming a 30 minute learning opportunity, and I really wanted to be done with the process so that I could snuggle up on the couch and finish my quiet time amongst the legos and boisterous clanging of the kids unloading the dishwasher and then heading down to the schoolroom gleefully to begin their independent work.  (I’m patting myself on the back for that long sentence.)

A mature voice whispered in my ear, “This is why you homeschool.  You have time for these precious opportunities.  Take it.  You won’t regret it a few days from now.  It will be messy.  You will get frustrated.  Deal with it.  This is an important life skill.  You want him to make eggs for his future wife and kids (Whaaatttt?  Why are we thinking that far ahead, brain?  I so hope his future wife thanks me one day.).  You want him to have confidence over an egg.  Because it is just an egg, but THIS {situation} is more than an egg.”

Sometimes I really get annoyed with my 38 year old intelligence.  Why do I have to be so wise at my more selfish moments? 

The tripled recipe called for 9 eggs.  It ended up having 15. 

I quickly demonstrated the proper way to crack an egg on the side of a Vitamix container.  He tried.  We discovered that it was important that he be above the Vitamix container and promptly found a chair for him to stand on, clearly creating an intimidating situation for the egg. 

But hesitation crept in.  His valor had been chinked.

I cracked three eggs in a row.  Speedily. With authority.  And with some 30 years of practice.  Clearly this places me with an advantage in his eyes, yet without the understanding of how many eggs I have cracked. My grasp of the physics behind the breaking of a shell based on the hardness of the egg, the container’s lip, and my strength created a daunting task in his fragile person.  I had wanted to appear so grand and efficient to deter him from learning how to crack an egg.  I initially wanted him to give up and just allow me to speedily finish the task and get on with the day. 

And then a little egg white landed on my thumb as if the Lord was laying His gentle hand upon mine, causing me to truly see there was something deeper to attend to. 

I gave my boy another egg. 

“Crack it.”

“No.”

“Yes.  You will crack it.”  (Totally one of my most obedient and gentle moments being a mom as I accepted the Lord’s instruction.)

As a tear trickled down his round face, he cracked the egg and half of it made it into the container and the other half on the counter . . . dripping down into the utensil drawer.  (Insert inner sighing.)

“OK.  No big deal {as I chipped a tooth.}.  Let’s try another one.”

“No, I’m scared.”

“What are you scared of?  It’s just an egg?!!!!”  (He was probably scared of me.)

And this went on for several minutes.  He began to cry harder and my voice began to increase in decibels. 

I realized the foolishness of this circular argument that was occurring over eggs.  Oval eggs. 

But it felt spiritual.  And I persisted.

“Buddy, this is just an egg.  You can’t give up cracking the egg.  You may be scared of the egg splattering on the counter, on your hand, or even in your face.  But when it comes down to it, it is just an egg.  Learning something new takes practice.  (My tears started here.) Think about it.  Do you think this is easy for me to go to the gym?  I don’t like the gym.  There are all these people who know what they are doing.  I don’t know anything.  I just know I am out of shape.  I’m awkward.  I don’t fit in there.  But I go.  I go because this is what is best for me and ultimately for our family.  I need to be healthy to take care of you guys.  If I gave up on achieving health, then I’m giving up on you.  If you give up on cracking eggs, then you are giving up on breakfast and your brothers and sister won’t eat.” 

(And I was really hungry too, at this point.)

I don’t know if the egg cracking lesson was for him or for me. 

But I do know he learned how to crack one egg that made it into the container.  And I have a new resolve to commit to overcoming my insecurity around fit people.  I’ve been to the gym multiple times since we made pancakes.  My muscles have become very sore and subsequently healed – only to be torn down again and built back stronger. 

This time, I am not giving up.  We will eat pancakes one day, with all  eggs cracked by my son and a trim, healthy mama standing beside him. 

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