egg

{via pintrest}

again, i am drawn to the small.

it seems in recent days that i have been pulled toward those things which are normally passed over or seen as insignificant to careless eyes. 

spoons and steps to the sacred.

i awoke this morning with a picture in my head. it was the photograph just to the left. 

a photograph of eggs. and for some reason, i could not get it out of my head, regardless of whatever i might do to dislodge it.

and then i began my morning blog readings. and the first one that i read was this one by Ann Voskamp.

and i realized that my glorious King was whispering in His own silent way that this mental portrait of an egg needed to be poured out and shared.

and so i pour. 

i pour this thought that an egg's sacredness has been lost. a gift from Heaven to remind us again and again of the holiness of God. 

more than just the picture of the Trinity here on earth, though that is indeed a glimpse of Heaven's gates.

it is the reality that brokenness can be restoring

that in our weakest state, when our shells are shattered and strewn about, that we are the most fulfilled. the most ready to be used for the benefit of others. for the benefit of Him.

{via pintrest}

for glory to come, brokenness must occur. 

for life to be seen, the shells must crack.

for Love to be poured out, the blood and water had to flow. the shell was crushed for life to be born.

the Stone Table must crack for death to run backwards.

the King must die for Death to die. 

this is life. this is love.

this is what it means to be an egg.

spoon

sorting through my silverware drawer, running my fingers over through the neat little rows of shining utensils.

freshly washed, freshly rubbed dry with soft red towels.

ever since i was a little girl, the silverware has had personalities all to themselves. the forks are knights, with their tine-made helmets. the knives are warriors with swords built in. they are fierce, these implements.

and then there are the spoons. no sharp edges, no points. the smoothness and the polish, but without any type of defense for themselves.

and so today, i went to my drawer of soldiers and warriors.

and to my two little rows of spoons. 

and i stood and stared at those small little pieces of silverware. and at first, i began to think i was a lunatic for putting so much stock into bits of metal with which the world eats.

but then i began to see myself in the reflection of one little spoon.

and i heard a Voice, so soft in my soul.

do you see you, dearheart? 

do you see Me and Mine?

and i saw me as a spoon. 

surrounded by warriors, people with influence to the world. and by soldiers, reaching out with power to the corners of the earth with shield and sword.

and then there is me. a spoon in a drawer.

maybe my edges are smooth and rounded, not the best for a defense.

but there's nothing better for comfort.

spoons serve up mint chocolate chip ice cream. 

and tomato soup. 

and all those things

warm and cold and soothing. 

spoons are soft and gentle.

i was made by Him to be a spoon.

and a spoon i shall be.

linking up with emily at imperfect prose on thursdays
my weekly moment to touch my real