I Love the Ocean….
I am not certain as to the why of it, but I do know the truth of it…
I love the ocean.
There is something about being near the ocean, waves crashing against the sandy beaches, sun rising all baby-pink, sherbet orange and stirred purple which makes my heart feel close to God. I love visiting the ocean. I would go so far as to say that an annual trek to the sand and foam is vital to my happiness, but would not want to lay that much responsibility at the feet of seascape and sunlight. What I will say is that being in the presence of His majesty while taking in the vastness, the wonderment and the infinite strength of the ocean is a great joy in my life.
In the past year, Ian and I have visited two oceans and the Gulf of Mexico, an ocean basin. We have seen the sandy beaches of Florida and the white sands of Bora Bora. It is the same…this love of things sandy and sunny.
There is something powerful yet tender about the ocean..where deathly depths of infinite un-knowness mates with the laughter and light of children at play on its surface.
Each time I am blessed with a visit, I learn a new lesson. This trip was no exception…
My teacher this time was my husband. Ian is an Agriculture/Biology student of thirty-three years, plus a few. His life has been one in deep appreciation of things God gave us to remind us of Him. He loves to grow things, track things and hunt things. He loves the swiftness of a deer as it runs through the woods and will stop roadside to look at the beauty of a wildflower. His view of “all things great and small” is one I loved as a young girl and now appreciate as a grown woman.
So, it was no surprise, as we walked the beach “of a morning” as the sun rose, to have our conversation turn to things of nature. This particular morning, we had our shell bag filled with Cockle Shells…
One of the most common shells on Sanibel Island is the heart cockle shell. This same shell is a rare find in other parts of the world. A cockle mollusk has feet and is able to jump several inches in a single bound.
I like knowing that the piece of the shell we were saving as a keepsake is the “heart” of something…not only is it a heart but it is strong and can leap in single bounds! A strong heart.
So, we began a hunt for all things “Cockle”…..and, we were in luck. We found big cockles and little cockles; we found thick, hard-shelled cockles and thin, delicate cockles.
Each shell half equals one sea life
Each shell which ended up in my pink shell bag bore its own story…
We found a perfectly white, un-blemished, un-tattered shell which was thick and strong and bore ridges of time indicating a long sea life. A survivor if you will and one with good shell genes. If the ocean has tossed and turned this shell to extreme, you cannot tell it by its shell…white, pristine, it is lovely to behold and is a “keeper”.
But, I also love the other Cockles which made it to our sight and into our net and which tell a story of their own…
The “Etched” Shell…similar to the Keeper, this shell is white and strong and lovely but on its surface, life is etched. It is as if someone took a knife during a vulnerable point in this shell’s life and made a permanent indentation on its shellish body. It healed in its own way, but the scars it bears are an evidence of life battles. It is forever bearing the imprint or “etching” of its vulnerability, its struggle evidenced forever in its etching.
Then there is the shell which breaks my heart. The “hole in my heart” shell. This shell is perfect in all ways except for a hole near its center. Perhaps what is not said about this heart-broken shell is more significant than any words I could pen here.
We came upon a “Partial Shell”. It appeared to have been growing normally, strong countenance, ridges fine and color a healthy white, then something in its shell life came along which was so significant as to break it almost in half. Beautiful on the one side and broken on the other. Also interesting to me is that while it appeared to be growing in the direction of strength…it has the delicate-ness of suffering. In my hand, you can feel it’s battle….and, its vulnerability.
Then there is the diseased shell. This is one where it’s original owner either died, grew diseased or was eaten by an animal. I am told you can tell if disease was involved by the mis-coloring of the inside of the shell. Life was tough on this particular Cockle shell as its color is a purplish-black and the indentation of where it’s inhabitant remains is as if there was great sacrifice.
Finally, we came upon a Cockle that was so beat up it barely wore its Cockle markings. We are not certain what happened to this shell, but it most definitely bears the markings of a great warrior battler.
While none of the shells we picked are currently living, the worthiness of the story of their life is told in the markings of their shell.
Much like us and our lives and our “shells”….
As we have aged, Ian and I agree that we focus more on the unsaid evidences in a person’s life than on the spoken words. We have friends and family and even ourselves represented in the shells we picked. Some are gloriously shiny and new, some are lovely and elegant. Some shells are large and boisterous and some are lean and purposeful. And, sadly, some are just unlovely on their outside. We agreed that as youngsters picking shells from the ocean tide, we threw back any with imperfections. We clung to the perfect ones, the large ones, the shiny ones instead.
However, now, at fifty and fifty-five, we find the beauty of the broken shells, the battered shells, the one life has not been so kind to, but in that unkindness, has brought about great beauty. In fact, as we sat down this morning to review and inspect our collection, we were amazed to find we had more imperfect shells than perfect. I liked one for it’s color but it had a hole in it; Ian liked one for its size but it had a spot missing. One shell looked perfect from it’s front but turn it over and it was broken and holey. Out of fifty shells, most had some imperfection…and yet, they were lovely enough to have made it to our shell collection.
And, not only did they make it to our collection, but they made us smile and thoughtful as we placed them among our others.
…I think God gives us shells and snowflakes, trees and rocks, land-scapes and sea-scapes as our reminder that all things beautiful are wrought with His hand. Each has it’s own story, each bears it’s own beauty marks and battle scars. Some grow stronger yet bear the etchings, some fall faint and give way to the challenge and some just float along the shores…living, thriving
Surviving…
So, if that applies to our own life…lives….
And, we are collected up in time, in the net of His love, how much more will our beauty and struggle and courage and survival mean to the one who sent us all of these many reminders laid out like jewels on the beaches for hearts open to consideration and acceptance?
I like to think that God sent us the beaches and the shells, to the snow capped mountains with the snowflakes, to the forest with it’s trees….to our neighborhoods with it’s peoples as a reminder.
Our lives have a purpose…a value…and a lesson
That is a gift innately ours from Him and our ability to see that purpose and value and beauty in others, is a gift we give back…
To Him.
Blessings,
Lesa
