Thoughts on Shelling

One of the mandatory activities at the beach is looking for shells.  (It really is just an excuse to spend days at a time meandering along the edge (or even completely in) the surf, letting the sound wash over our troubles and wave them away.)  The Atlantic water is so much warmer than the Pacific that it is really a treat to be out in it.

I have a jar that I fill with my shells (and my memories).   Usually the shells we find are broken like these.  Not often do we find them whole.

First thing on the beach, The Husband found this larger conch shell.  They are fairly rare for us to find. We have found several in the past, although usually they're inhabited and we can't bring ourselves to kill the inhabitant just for a keepsake.

The Husband also found the sand dollars.  They are a treasured prize.  It seems we rarely find them unbroken and when we do, they somehow don't manage to survive the trip home intact. The yellow one I call the "potato chip" shells because they look so much like, well, potato chips, and the other is a shark's eye shell (upside down - I'm amazed that I actually know the correct name) and they are generally quite easy to find.



With each visit we find the prevalence of shells varies from kind to kind.  This year we found a lot of these little spirals.  And for the first time found the ones I call "pincushion" shells.  Even more fun, they were unbroken.

This is the second year we've found these sort of tube shells, although last year they were all really small.

The real hunt, though, is for whole sand dollars.  This year the storm brought in lots of them down at the west end of the island.  By the time we got there, they were pretty much picked up.  Although, amazingly, we managed to find a few and most of them made it home.

I've thought about the quest for the perfect shell.  Even when we manage to find unbroken shells, they often have cracks.  Or they carry "baggage" like this one.

Sometimes the "baggage" is easily removed, others - not so much.  The Husband smilingly teases me about my propensity to pick up the broken ones, the ones where I can see the beauty of the inside.  I tell him they have character.  He just chuckles and humors my collection of broken shells that no one else would want. 

I finally told him I hoped Heavenly Father could see past my cracks and baggage and will love me the same, my hope is that He can see the inner beauty that I hope I have.  And that I can remember to look for the inner beauty in others, in spite of their chips and baggage.  I have a bit of difficulty with that.  My resolve is to do better.