Cracked

The cracked ones are my favorite. They're the ones that have character. They're the survivors. The ones with the smooth white shell, no flaws, no imperfections, sure, they're nice and all, but my eye is immediately drawn to the cracks. The way the colors are a little darker along the lines of the crack.

Nothing in this world is perfect. Not eggs, not people. Maybe chocolate; chocolate may be perfect.

There's a reason why nothing is perfect and nobody is perfect...it's the flaws that give people character; it's the flaws that give people the strength it takes to keep going. Not at first maybe; at first it sucks. Things might suck. Situations might suck. But it takes bad days to appreciate the good days, right? It takes being cracked and bent and a little bit broken to appreciate the happy; the good; the unbent. Sometimes you're left with scars. Scars are signs of healing. Healing is good. Scars are ugly in some people's eyes, but look! You survived. The pain might have been torture. It may have left you vulnerable and weak and a heap of crying tears, but you're stronger because of it.

Cracked; bent; bruised; scarred. Not broken. Healed. Stronger. Capable of hard things.

My babies...might be scarred. But look at how beautiful they are because of those scars. Imperfect, beautiful, strong, kind, empathetic, amazing little people. Gosh, I love them.