No Use Crying Over Cracked Eggs

I bought eggs today on a grocery run. As I unpacked our groceries at home, Rosemary – always wanting to help, removed the egg carton from its bag and dropped it. Out of a dozen eggs, all but four eggs cracked; and I cracked, too.

In the grand scheme of life, broken eggs are no big deal, but in that moment, my response startled myself and her. A look of surprise upon my face, an exclamative “oh no, Rosemary,” and a frustrated scramble to quickly remove her from the scene and clean up the mess. Rosemary immediately knew something was wrong and that I was upset. She didn’t know any better, but I did. Her eyes watched me, and the look on her face said it all. She began to tear up and quickly asked for “Dada” to console her. I realized my failure in that moment. My failure to pause before responding. (And why did I respond the way that I did? Why did I feel so upset over cracked eggs? Was it their cost? The lost sense of order? Another task for me to take care of? I’m not sure.)

For Rosemary, I am a safe place. One of two people she looks to for love, comfort, and care. And when that sense of safety felt lost for a moment, she knew of only one other to turn to – her dad. How that moment hit me and revealed my own frailty. My ability to lose my composure in an instant. How I need God’s grace in every day.

Hugs were given and an apology made. And while I don’t know how much of that Rosemary fully understands, I know she felt when something was wrong and felt when things were made right again. I held her a little more closely when she settled down for her nap today, told her “I love you,” and made a mental note to self:

There’s no use crying (or fretting) over a few cracked eggs.