Seashells on the Seashore

On Saturday, I got to stand at the edge of the Gulf of Mexico and feel the cool water wash over my feet. This was the first time I have stood on the sandy shore of the beach all summer and I didn't take it for granted. I hunted seashells with some people I love and whom I know without a doubt, love me just as much. I don't take them for granted either.

We hunted shells and we gave each other our very best finds without thought of keeping them for ourselves. Isn't that how love should always work?

As we hunted, I thought about those shells and how even though they weren't all perfect, most of them were cracked and showed the wear and tear of being tossled about in the deep waters, they were no less a treasure in our eyes.  And when we found them, we scooped them up, rinsed them off, and held them up to be admired. I also thought about how many times we find ourselves tossed about in the deep waters--the dark, treacherous waters. And when we finally make it to shore, instead of staying still, instead of letting ourselves be scooped up and washed off, we throw ourselves back into the deep, dangerous waters. It seems as if we would rather be tossed about than washed off. Maybe we prefer the deep waters to the safety of the shore because we can't really be seen in the turmoil of the water. Maybe we are afraid that if we stay still on the shore, that we will be passed by because we aren't good enough.

But maybe we should just be still and take a chance, let ourselves be examined. I don't know about you, but some of my favorite shells are the broken ones because I can see what they are really made of. And it only makes me treasure them more.

Maybe we should all stay still so we can be picked up.