Miracles

Yesterday a good friend took Micah and Lysle to the park. They were gone for a few hours and eventually stepped back into the long hallway of our apartment bringing a flurry of excitement. Lysle was gingerly carrying something in his hands. With a big smile he lifted the upper hand and revealed it to me: a beautiful off-white oval, elongated just enough to clearly show it wasn’t a chicken’s work but a duck’s.

An egg.

Lysle said that our friend, who knows many small things about nature that we might not know, thought it had the slightly rosy tinge of a fertilized egg. That’s why Lysle had carried it like more than mere treasure but like a potential duckling, a living creature, a pet he could love.

Now that egg is sitting in a bowl under the boys’ warming bedside lights with moistened paper towels (upon our knowledgeable friend’s recommendation). We don’t have an incubator or a duck’s warm downy belly to offer. But we’re trying against all odds.

duck egg

In view of the odds we are facing here and the miracle it would be for the egg to hatch, Micah came up with this question for his brother yesterday: “What would make you happier, Lysle, if the egg hatched or if Oma came back?”

“Sorry, egg,” was Lysle’s instant reply since he had to choose one over the other. And just the thought of it, of the miracle of Oma coming back for a little longer, gave us all a lift.

Even though life is so fragile and death such a monolith and this egg tells it just as it is, we can imagine a miracle together.

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