The other day I got to shuck 20 fresh oysters. They were still in their shells. These shells are ugly, misshapen things, gray, jagged, and hard as rocks. They look like this for defense, of course, and their shells are impenetrable.
Even these ones, though they'd been out of the sea for unknown hours, were still alive. You could tell by the way they held on to their safe, rocky cocoon that they were loath to come out.
But I was not to be deterred. I grabbed my trusty screwdriver and probed around the edge for a place where I could slip it between the halves of the shell and pry it open. It wasn't easy. Just finding a good spot to start applying leverage was a challenge. And then, just getting it started required a significant effort.
The work had just begun, though. Cracking them open a little wasn't enough. It allowed my screwdriver to get in easier as I moved around the shell, gently but firmly prying it open. Carefully, avoiding the precious insides, I was able to finally reveal the inside of the shell.
And it was quite the contrast.
The outside was rough, misshapen, ugly, and gray. The inside was smooth, soft, and absolutely white. The outside was a deception. The inside was welcoming and beautiful. There is no question, were I an oyster, where I'd want to spend my time.
It is not without its perils, opening the hard shell. I was hurt myself in the process, scraping myself against the hard exterior, striving to get the shell to open up. I even gouged myself with my own implement, cutting into my own flesh through an inadvertent slip. But persistence won out in the end, and these delicious and sustaining goodnesses were opened to my view. And eating them, they became a part of me, the nutrients inside them contributed to my nourishment and replenishment.
Even these ones, though they'd been out of the sea for unknown hours, were still alive. You could tell by the way they held on to their safe, rocky cocoon that they were loath to come out.
But I was not to be deterred. I grabbed my trusty screwdriver and probed around the edge for a place where I could slip it between the halves of the shell and pry it open. It wasn't easy. Just finding a good spot to start applying leverage was a challenge. And then, just getting it started required a significant effort.
The work had just begun, though. Cracking them open a little wasn't enough. It allowed my screwdriver to get in easier as I moved around the shell, gently but firmly prying it open. Carefully, avoiding the precious insides, I was able to finally reveal the inside of the shell.
And it was quite the contrast.
The outside was rough, misshapen, ugly, and gray. The inside was smooth, soft, and absolutely white. The outside was a deception. The inside was welcoming and beautiful. There is no question, were I an oyster, where I'd want to spend my time.
It is not without its perils, opening the hard shell. I was hurt myself in the process, scraping myself against the hard exterior, striving to get the shell to open up. I even gouged myself with my own implement, cutting into my own flesh through an inadvertent slip. But persistence won out in the end, and these delicious and sustaining goodnesses were opened to my view. And eating them, they became a part of me, the nutrients inside them contributed to my nourishment and replenishment.
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