The Goodness of God in the Little Things

Today I woke up and did what any respectable adult does before they speak to Jesus or humanity, I poured my morning cup of ambition.

Coffee first. Everything else later.

I shuffled into the kitchen, still half-asleep, and opened the refrigerator to grab my eggs. My eggs. The good ones. The organic, brown, pasture-raised, “these chickens had names and hobbies” kind of eggs. The ones I pay extra for because if I’m going to eat protein, it’s going to come from a hen that lived better than most people. They were gone.

Now listen. I live with people, but I do not live with a competitive bodybuilding team training for an egg-eating contest. Nobody in this house inhaled a dozen eggs overnight. Something was off.

Cue mild irritation. Then suspicion. Then the slow realization that life had played me.

My husband went out to the car and there they were. Sitting peacefully in the back seat. Untouched. Forgotten. Abandoned like groceries with unmet destiny. They never made it into the house.

Some people will tell you eggs are still safe to eat after sitting in a car overnight. Those people are either reckless, blessed with iron stomachs, or simply do not respect gastrointestinal boundaries. I, however, enjoy a life free from food poisoning and biblical-level plagues of diarrhea, so I did the mature, heartbreaking thing. I threw them away.

Six dollars. Right into the trash. No memorial service. No moment of silence. Just grief and the smell of coffee.

And before anyone says, “It’s just eggs,” let me stop you right there. It’s never just eggs. It’s the principle. It’s the expectation. It’s the audacity of starting your day with disappointment before you’ve even brushed your teeth.

I went on with my day, because that’s what grown women do. We swallow irritation, adjust expectations, and keep it moving. I didn’t pray about it. I didn’t cry out to heaven. I didn’t rebuke the spirit of forgetfulness hovering over the grocery bags. I just accepted the loss.

Fast forward to work.

I walk into the breakroom and sitting there, like an altar I did not build, were several dozen fresh eggs. Not store-bought. Not questionable. Not expired. Fresh. Less than twenty-four hours old. Beautiful green, brown, and blue eggs like Easter showed up early and uninvited.

Free, for anyone to take.

Now here’s where I know God has a sense of humor and smirked.

Those eggs came from someone who is known to complain about me. Not a friend. Not a cheerleader. Not someone who sends encouraging texts or heart emojis. Someone who has opinions. Someone who notices me a little too closely. Someone who would probably describe me as “a lot.” And yet, there they were. Eggs. Waiting. No strings attached.

I didn’t ask for eggs. I didn’t pray for eggs. I didn’t even think about eggs after the trash can incident. But God, apparently, was not done addressing the situation.

This is the part where Scripture stops being decorative and starts being disruptive.

Because there’s a verse people love to quote when things are shiny and Instagram-worthy: “Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart.” We like that one! We embroider it on pillows; we slap it on coffee mugs. But we misunderstand it!

God doesn’t give you desires like a vending machine. He gives them like a Father who pays attention. And sometimes, the desire isn’t something dramatic, it’s eggs. It’s peace. It’s ease. It’s the quiet restoration of something small you already let go of. And let’s talk about the way He did it.

Because God didn’t send me a coupon. He didn’t rewind time and teleport the eggs from the car to my fridge. He didn’t shame me for forgetting or lecture me about stewardship.

He replaced what I lost better, and He did it through someone who doesn’t particularly like me. That’s Psalm 23 behavior. “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.” Sometimes that table is plastic. Sometimes it’s in a breakroom. And sometimes it’s covered in eggs instead of vindication.

God does not require universal approval to bless you. Let me say that again for the people who are exhausted trying to be liked. God does not need everyone to understand you, support you, or applaud you in order to provide for you.

He will use who He wants, how He wants, and when He wants, and He will do it without asking your opinion. And here’s what really got me: God didn’t have to do that. He could have let the loss stand. He could have said, “It’s not that serious.” He could have stayed silent. But He didn’t.

Which tells me something important: God cares about the small things, not because they’re big, but because you are. We’ve been taught, subtly and sometimes directly, that God only wants to be bothered with the “big stuff.” Cancer diagnoses. Bank accounts. Broken marriages. Global crises. But Scripture says He knows when sparrows fall. He numbered hairs. He notices things we dismiss as insignificant.

So why wouldn’t He notice eggs?

Why wouldn’t He care about the minor inconveniences that pile up and quietly wear us down? Why wouldn’t He respond to the sigh you didn’t even turn into a prayer? Sometimes faith isn’t loud. Sometimes it’s just noticing!

Noticing that what you lost didn’t end you. Noticing that what you didn’t ask for still showed up. Noticing that God is present even when you’re not performing spirituality.

I think we miss miracles because we’re waiting for fireworks. But God is steady, not flashy. Consistent, not chaotic. He’s not always trying to impress us, sometimes He’s just reminding us He’s there!! Always there.

And here’s the kicker: the eggs I got at work were better than the ones I lost. Store eggs versus farm eggs. Loss versus upgrade. God didn’t recycle my disappointment. He redeemed it. That’s restoration.

Not always identical. Not always dramatic. But always intentional. So no, this story isn’t really about eggs. It’s about a God who pays attention when you’re just trying to get through the morning. A God who replaces quietly. A God who blesses without announcement. A God who doesn’t need your prayer to be polished, He heard the sigh.

And maybe that’s the goodness of God we need to talk about more. Not the stage-worthy testimonies. Not the highlight reels. But the breakroom tables. The unexpected provision. The small mercies that whisper, “I see you.”

Even before coffee.