The Day My Egg Hatched

I was most restless in heart matters.

I had my first girlfriend at seventeen. It was more of a cirque. My second and third attempts were futile. The fourth was foul.

I actually considered celibacy just to arrest my ego.

And so I went to freeze. No more of these relationships until …

Sometime in 1986, an endearing missionary perceptively asked what she might pray for. Her countenance was beguiling. I disclosed my ineptness and fears.

I remember her brief advice:

“You do have a good heart but you’re out of focus. Delight in the Lord and He will grant you the desires of your heart.”

“Take a piece of paper and cut an egg-shaped stationery. Stop looking and concentrate on God.”

“Tell Him your resolve, but don’t forget to write down an honest list of traits you feel your wife should have. But remember, you are giving God the option to modify.”

I made my list that night.

I got married on December of 1988.

One morning, my wife was organizing my closet when she found a weird-looking list.

She read through the numbers: 1) She should be at least 5’5” just because I am 6’1’’; 2) It will be grand if she’s good in Math; 3) She should be an athlete; 4) She must be natural with kids; 5) It will be nice if she had Chinese eyes … etc.

Out of my twenty, nineteen were bullseye. The only thing that was not checked was a request for chef de cuisine kitchen aptitude.

Well, that was twenty-seven negotiable years ago.

Her French omelette is beautifully succulent. The egg is hatched.