Carol of the Shells

I love Christmas songs. Within the first 5 notes, Christmas memories flood my mind, pour over into my heart and, sometimes, leak out my eyes in cherished rememberance.

The Carol of the Bells brings up a Holiday memory that I scribbled down eight years ago. A true story. Well, most of it.

Here it is…

TechnoBoy and I are attempting to make hardboiled eggs. The boiling part we got. I take the eggs off the stove, dumping the hot water into the sink, receiving only first degree burns. TechnoBoy takes over and baptizes the eggs in cold water. Full immersion..

We know we need to let them sit. We have no clue how long. After two minutes our ADD kicks in and we wander into the Dining/Living/Computer/Family Room. of the Little-House-On-The-Corner. TechnoBoy plops down in front of his computer as I plop down into The Chair.

An hour later one of us remembers the eggs on the way to The Reading Room.

”Hey!”, I bellow, "Get in here and help me peel."

"Dad, you got this. You can grasp the technology,  I know you can."

"Nice.  Get in here."

We start cracking shells, shells that have now melded with the egg to form a singularity. Eggs that should be smooth and white turn out as pockmarked as the lunar surface. Chunks of egg glued to shells litter the table.

There's probably an obscure state law prohibiting what we were doing to those eggs. If not, there should be..

"I'll get the blender," says TechnoBoy, "it'll be quicker and more humane."

"Don't be silly”, I bark as I set a cratered egg on the plate.

"Gimme a screwdriver."

I grab the last egg. The shell is already cracked with multiple fissures. I begin to peel and one big piece comes off to reveal a perfectly smooth, bald, white egg..

Like I walked out into a cornfield and lifted the ball cap off an old Iowa farmer..

I put the eggs in the fridge, get a cup of The Elixir of Knowledge, and plop down in The Chair. Technoboy is back on his computer, earphones and mic lock and loaded for a multi-player game.

I stare out the window. An uneasy thought forms as the cracked egg sits on my mental toboggan, The Elixir of Knowledge pushing it towards the edge.

Do I hold onto my shell, my world, so tightly that the change He wants is - agonizing? Or do I let Him crack my shell, letting go, letting Him peel where He wants to reveal what He wants?

The mental toboggan noses downward. And off we go. A Christmas song morphs into different words.

"The Carol of the Bells" is now changed 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.”

Yeah. I suppose it's time to get crackin'.