Well, the boiling part we got.
I mean, any idiot can boil water.
Even us.
It was the peeling part that befuddled us.
I took the eggs off the stove, dumping the hot water while receiving only first degree burns.
While I buttered (with real butter) the back of my hand, TechnoBoy put cold water in the pan.
We knew we needed to let 'em sit.
We had no clue how long.
After two minutes our ADD kicked in and we wandered into the Dining/Living/Computer/Family Room.
TechnoBoy was drawn to his computer, me to the Chair.
An hour later one of us remembered the eggs.
"Get out here and help me peel."
"Dad, you can do it. You can grasp the technology, I know you can."
"Nice. Get out here."
We started crackin' shells.
Shells that didn't wanna come off without eviscerating the egg.
Chunks of egg glued to bits of shell.
The eggs looked like the work of a constantly-sneezing blind-folded potter.
After a three-martini lunch.
There's probably an obscure state law prohibiting what we were doing to those eggs.
Or there should be.
"I'll get the blender," said TechnoBoy "it'll be quicker and we couldn't do any worse."
"Don't be silly."
I set the cratered and abused remains of an egg on the plate.
"Gimme a screwdriver."
Eventually, I reached for the last egg. I noticed the shell was already cracked in multiple fissures.
Oh, dandy.
I began to peel.
And the one big piece came off cleanly to reveal a perfectly smooth, bald, white egg underneath.
It was like walking out into the field and lifting the ball cap off an old Iowa farmer.
Huh.
I put the eggs in the fridge, got a cup of the Elixir of Knowledge, and plopped down into the Chair.
I now sit staring out the window,
the cracked egg perched on my mental toboggan as the Elixir pushes it towards the slope.
Do I hold onto my shell, my world, so tightly that the changes He wants are agonizing . . .
Or do I let go of my shell, letting Him peel where He wants - to reveal what He wants?
Oh boy.
The mental toboggan noses downward as the Elixir gives a final push.
And off we go.
A Christmas song begins to morph in my mind.
It's changing "The Carol of the Bells" forever.
Please break my shell,
So they can tell,
You're changing me,
Let the world see
Please break my shell.
Please break my shell.
Please ... break ... my ... shell.
Another swig of the Elixir and it hits me.
Yeah.
I s'pose it's 'bout time to get crackin', eh?