I went to mass this morning (completely forgot that it’s the first Friday of the month and basically walked in on the end of adoration), then went to daycare for a short shift, cleaned the changing table and the big foam-filled climbing toy the kids play on, and then the other teacher comes back in the room with a white styrofoam egg carton and hands it to me.
“Here, Kortni,” she says, “take some eggs home. They’re yard eggs.” I don’t know if “yard eggs” is a southern thing, but a lot of people down here have a few farm animals without having a full-fledged farm. As I was told when I asked what the scoop was on the eggs, the director of the daycare has chickens, and that’s where the eggs came from. Yard eggs. I asked her if I needed to refrigerate them, and she said that since they hadn’t been refrigerated yet, I didn’t need to until I got home. That was really my main concern and the only reservation I had against taking them – I didn’t want them to spoil while I was teaching piano this afternoon.
And so I took the eggs with me while I taught piano.
Before I leave the daycare every day, I can usually squeeze in about ten minutes to visit with the babies in the room. I love babies, but I never get to spend any time with them and the 3 o’clock hour is usually pretty busy for feedings, so I get to help out and get my daily dose of cute while I’m at it. As I was leaving, one of the girls working in there said, “So, I have to ask, what’s up with the eggs?”
I shrugged and said I really didn’t know, the other teacher in the two year old room gave them to me, and apparently they’re from the director’s chickens. Sensing how out of the loop I probably was and usually am, I asked why she asked. Maybe she knows something I don’t, right?
“Oh, I’ve just seen those eggs passed around a lot today,” she said with a chuckle.
So I’m envisioning it happening something like this: The director brings a dozen yard eggs to the daycare, gives them to the assistant director, who gives them to the lady who’s third in command, then to the lady who’s fourth in command, who gives them to the teacher of the one year olds, the older one years, the three year olds, the creeper-crawlers, the four year olds, the preschoolers, who gives them to the assistant director, who gives them to the lady in room 5 with me.
Apparently nobody wants these eggs.
Maybe there’s something about yard eggs I don’t know. It is April Fools Day – perhaps that’s what aroused the suspicion in the first place. Or maybe nobody wanted to be responsible for these eggs. I honestly counted them as a blessing (once I found out they wouldn’t spoil at least), because money is tight and hey, free eggs. There’s breakfast.
I got to thinking – how many times have I turned something down because I don’t want the burden of responsibility that comes with it? Or how many times have I faced that responsibility and decided it was worth it? Do I have problems with that when it comes to something God is asking me to take care of? Sometimes I think I have problems saying no to things in real life, then I get in over my head. Other times I wonder if the eggs God has given me – whether it’s a room full of one year olds or a friend who desperately needs to talk at 4 in the morning – are more than I can handle.
Maybe that’s stretching the metaphor a little too far, but what would you do if God offered you a gift that came with heavy responsibility? I’d like to think we’d all take the eggs, but we are human, and sometimes… it’s tough. But it helps if you see the blessing side of the gift, too.