When all the eggs (literally) hit the fan..

I spend a lot (too much) time in my trusty car I’ve named Luigi. We have a bond like no other, no girl and her car have ever had a love like this.

On most mornings I’m fighting myself to get out of bed, even though I am usually excited for my daily tasks, I would just rather stay warm and comfy in my bed.

This particular morning, I really wanted to get into the office early, I wanted to get a head start on the upcoming events, and I wanted everything to go smoothly so that I could have a nice, peaceful day.

I also wanted to do the healthy thing and be sure that I ate breakfast.

As I finished cooking the scrambled eggs, fully ready to take them, plated, to my car and eat them on the way. I hesitated with the ketchup.

I hesitated with the KETCHUP.

I was taking scrambled eggs to eat on a plate during my morning commute and I was concerned about the ketchup? Would it make a mess? I shrugged it off with the idea that nothing crazy would happen, it would be like every other morning.

It was like every other morning.

People turn without looking, people stop short, and one particular lady decided to make a left turn out of a drug store parking lot, and cross in front of me as I was going through a green light at just TOO LATE of an instant!

I can still see the moment in slow motion.

I slam on the breaks, just inches from her car and I hear the fateful sound of plate and fork crashing in all the wrong places. I look down to see egg and ketchup everywhere.

Immediately I am so angry at this lady for clearly almost causing an accident, but in the moment I am actually more mad that my car is a mess. I am mad at the lady for my eggs being everywhere.

Then I realize something: its my fault that the eggs are everywhere. Its my fault, because WHY THE HECK WOULD I EAT EGGS IN THE CAR?

See, I was eating those eggs in the car because I had actually over scheduled myself that day. In fact, I am always over scheduled. I have this need to do ALL OF THE THINGS in hopes that that would make me somehow a good person. I want to literally be all things to all men in a way that isn’t healthy. It is as if I am trying to prove my worth to others.

But has the Cross not already proved this to me?

How many times will I have to look at his pierced hands and his pierced side and still not fully understand the unconditional truth of his sacrifice?

I work hard for peaceful and nice days. I pile things on top of each other, schedule things down to the minute, fight to get places on time, all in hopes that I might somehow find peace in that? I am looking for something in a place I wont find it.

How true that is for so many things in my life. I am on a journey to understand truth about who I am in the eyes of the Man who gave everything for me. The first time I heard it, I didn’t understand, now I hear it and I still barely grasp it. However, I ask myself often what my life would be like if I just lived loved.

In the quiet of the chapel, I meet his gaze. I know him there. He knows who I am, knows I am worth the greatest sacrifice because it is his sacrifice that reunited me to him. He whispers it to me. As I am there, I hear it, I am reminded. Slowly we walk, and I grow, and he loves.




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