The Golden Egg

This morning our neighbors invite us to join them on an Easter Egg hunt in the forest. As I make my way past thorns, briars, fallen logs, and piles of leaves (this is the forest!), I find myself so full of delight.

Then, I realize I’m in charge of hiding the Golden Egg. I can hardly speak from the sneaky joy of it.

When I was in third grade, back in the 80’s, I once found the Golden Egg during a military base wide Easter Egg Hunt in Ft. Lewis, Washington. I remember exactly what it felt like to spy that bright golden egg. It had been hidden in the ivy, and when I found it, I held it up over my head and couldn’t speak. I was silenced by the excitement–the unbelievable happiness–of it.

The prize was a Cabbage Patch doll. A real Cabbage Patch doll that nobody else had and that everyone wanted. It you grew up in the 80’s, you know exactly what the Cabbage Patch doll meant to me. Even all these years later, I can’t believe it actually happened to me.

This time around, I’m hiding the Golden Egg for my own daughter who happens to be the exact same age as I was back then. This time around, I’m the one hiding, not searching. This time around, I’m the one giving, not getting. I’m making the moments for another generation, just like someone made them for me. The delight is just as powerful and just as exciting.

Growing older means that I get to hide the Golden Egg and watch the joy of others finding it. And what a joy it was! Early into motherhood, I felt the loss of my youth, but now, I feel what I gain with age.

I hide the Golden Eggs, and that’s better than finding them.


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