Shelling Lessons

Seashells have fascinated me for decades!

When I was in elementary school, Dad took the family to Galveston Beach. While I vaguely remember building a sandcastle, I fondly recall spending my allowance on a cellophane-wrapped basket filled with seashells. Years later, I would still spend hours sorting through the shells and organizing them by size - or shape - or color - or type. 

This fascination continued through middle school, when I chose Seashells as the topic for my first research paper. I used big words like cephalopods, scaphopods, and bivalves. While I wasn't terribly interested in the creatures that lived within - or the scientific jargon - I sure thought they looked pretty 😊

To this day, I much prefer a beach that encourages shelling to one that sports large rocks or white sugar sand. Fortunately, Sargent Beach, Texas is the perfect fit.

I like to walk the beach at low tide. The firm sand makes the perfect pavement, and the shells provide a nice distraction from exercise 😏 This week I listened to nature's wisdom as I made my daily trek along the water's edge.

Three Lessons I Learned from Shelling

Low tide at Sargent Beach

Slow Down and See I've spent most of my life trying to be as efficient as possible. Don't dawdle. Get from point A to point B in as little time as possible. And in pre-retirement life, perhaps that mindset served me well.

But savoring the moment is just as valuable as efficiency.

In my 60s, I have no time commitments. I have few obligations. I can either stare straight ahead and race through my walk (to get back for what?!)  ... OR ... I can look down and stroll the beach. By slowing my pace and studying the ground, I discover individual shells that otherwise remain hidden from view.

Not all are worth keeping, but so many capture my eye. The glint of the iridescent oyster shell. The baby blue stripes of the clam's shell. The sturdy scoop of the scallop. Each one brings me joy ... if only in that moment. And often I choose to leave them on the beach for another unsuspecting traveler to find.

A few "perfect" specimens

Keep Life in Perspective Each time I go shelling, my hope (or goal) is to find the "perfect" specimen. And should I return home without a "perfect" shell, I feel a bit dejected -- robbed of a promised treasure.

However, if I find the perfect shell... one with no holes, cracks, or chips ... then I declare it my lucky day. I have a spring in my step and I'm more optimistic.

But truthfully both walks are valuable. The real joy is in noticing. 

I marvel at the power of the waves as they crest and fall in a natural rhythm. I ponder the underwater world that exists far from my limited view. And I delight in the tide that deposits little treasures on the sand as the waves slowly recede. 

In this vast creation, teeming with yet undiscovered universes, my problems quickly diminish. If I care about a small shell on an isolated beach, surely God cares for me.

Imperfect beauty

The Beauty of Imperfection I quickly realized, however, that in searching for the perfect shell, I missed hundreds, if not thousands, of other viable specimens. I failed to notice the beauty of the broken. 

Perfect shells are exactly the same -- but broken shells are unique. 

Broken shells have literally weathered the storm. Some come out looking haggard, fragile, and weak. But others allow these obstacles to smooth away harsh edges. They may no longer look like the shell of their past, but they are still beautiful. 

Perhaps it is because broken shells allow us to see their inner beauty. We now see the soft lines and curves that were once protected by a hard exterior. It is that vulnerability that draws our attention. 

Personal Application

As a recovering perfectionist, it is difficult for me to recognize value in being imperfect. I am quick to throw away and start fresh. Or sometimes just throw away.

But these daily shelling expeditions are teaching me life lessons. 

Each of us, whether perfect and (as yet) unblemished ... or less than perfect and vulnerable ... has value. 

Each of us is unique. 

Each of us has a purpose. 

Some may be destined for greatness (discover the cure for cancer) and some destined for the seemingly small and trivial (a broken shell on a beach that brings joy to the morning walker). I'm not sure God differentiates. 

God does not expect the shell to save lives.

God only asks the shell to be a shell.

Who, dear Lord, do you ask me to be? And help me accept my simple purpose in your grand design for life. 

My collection so far...