This past weekend I had a moment; a beautiful moment, not one of those “I lost control moments” or “I woke up late” kind of moments. I had a profoundly beautiful moment.
It happened like this. I was sitting in the Sacramento Airport minding my own business, doing my best to stay healthy and avoid the Corona Virus sneezes from the lady across from me. I was sitting on the bench watching, it’s what I do in airports. At this particular moment I was watching two children playing at the feet of their mother hen who was anxiously pecking away at her eye phone.
The two children were well behaved. A blonde girl of maybe around 7 with pigtails and sporting a Captain Marvel shirt while younger brother of maybe 5, also blonde with an Elmo shirt sat playing with their dinosaurs, an activity my kiddos still do to this day. They were roaring and scratching and conquering the Jurassic era while periodically being hushed by their mother. They would pull out a new dinosaur each time one was defeated in this epic battle for life they were playing out in front of me.
So far Spinosaurus, held by the blonde girl was ruling the day. I watched the boy, deafeated drop his Stegosaurus to the ground and reach into the pack producing an egg. They both looked at it oddly and started laughing. An egg? I landed in.
“What’s that going to do?” she asked.
“It’s what’s inside the egg,” he said with a smirk on his face.
The fairly large egg opened on hinges and he produced a T Rex, the mightiest of dinosaurs. Sister looked shocked.
“T-Rex beats Spinosaurs any day!” he loudly proclaimed.
After dropping that truth bomb his T-Rex was sent into a spiral missile fall directly into Spinosuarus; poor Spinosaurus apparently never had a chance. He was crushed under the weight of the ferocious beast.
He took his champion and paraded him around their tiny circle arena made by their legs and feet connecting forming a death battle circle. Then he did something interesting.
He took his T-Rex and put him back in the egg. The older sister was as shocked as I was.
“You can’t put him back inside the egg, that doesn’t make sense,” she exclaimed. “He’s already been hatched now.”
He seemed to consider this for a moment.
“Ok,” he said tossing the egg back into the bag and waited for the next dino challenger.
I laughed and then the metaphor hit me.
Animals like chickens, alligators , turtles and more go through this process. Their cells come together and build daily inside the shell until arms, legs, and a head form. They will be inside their tiny home incubating for long periods of time until the egg is cracked. And who does the cracking? Well, short answer, they do.
As their bodies grow larger and more substantial they are pressed against the walls of the egg until finally a foot, a beak, an arm pushes through.
It’s a struggle.
It’s not an easy process. Take a minute and watch a youtube video of one of these little babies pushing their way out of their egg home. It takes a while to push, pull, crack and repeat. They will strain against the shell, use muscles they’ve never used before. They will strain against the light outside without the eggs protective shield. Their feet will touch ground, skin feel the cool of the air. They will feel exposed. And yet, they will still battle their way out of their eggshell home.
Here’s the interesting thing for me. The tiny baby, after stepping into this new world with new possibilities, dangers and fears won’t go back to the broken shell and attempt to live there. Why? Because the baby has outgrown the shell; it would be counter to its’ very survival!
It reminded me of a couple conversations I had friends this past week.
One friend told me about going back to their old church service. How it was nice to see old friends, feel some familiarity and spiritual community again.
My other friend had family visiting and was forced to attend a service to appease her parents. She said she was strong armed by a church elder and asked why she hadn’t attended in so long. She despised the prayers and hour long sermon but found herself enjoying the warmth of the room during music.
I asked them both if they felt they would attend again or maybe a semi-regular amount. They both gave a quick, emphatic “hell no”.
Here’s what I loved though about their responses. They aren’t going back to attempt to crawl inside a structure they longer fit inside. They were there to visit and be reminded of the elements of the shell that once bought them warmth.
They aren’t angry with the shell— the shell helped support them, form them, nurture them. The shell did what shells do; it temporarily gave them a starting point before the long journey ahead.
For us in the middle of deconstruction, for us who’ve outgrown church settings, certain dogmas, who no longer find messages of “I’m not worthy” and “Just have faith” compelling anymore this is a metaphor that hums.
What if we viewed the places we’ve left with gratitude? Those places did their best to bring you life— they didn’t change— you did.
The eggshell didn’t grow —you did.
And as you grew the natural action corresponded — you broke through the shell.
And for many of us the “outside” world felt strange, wonderful, scary, and new. Many of us had moments while we were breaking through the shell where we’d peak out and quickly pull back inside. Maybe we’d bravely venture an arm or two and then a leg feeling the wild world from safetly. The problem was though that once you’ve broken through holes were left, many holes. The structure couldn’t hold up anymore because soon there were more gaping holes than walls.
And so slowly we stepped out, allowed the newness to cover us. And yeah, sometimes we’d run back to the safety of the shell only to realize there wasn’t much “shell” left. But sometimes that was appropriate wasn’t it? Because in those beginning stages sometimes we needed a little familiar to keep us steady with all the newness the journey was offering.
Sometimes we’d feel angry with the shell because it no longer offered safety. Sometimes we’d feel the shell had taken advantage of us or maybe even duped us. And we knew that was silly but it’s how we felt sometimes when the wind was blowing hard or the new terrain was difficult. Truth was, the shell served its’ purpose — and now— it’s time for you and I to serve ours’—outside the shell.