Seashells

It was the first time I'd seen the ocean in 6 years, and I couldn't get enough of it.  I love the ocean and it's paradox of restless contentment--always moving, always in flux, but still happily contained in its frothy boundaries and regimen of creeping tides.  I love the tangy smell of salt and the heavy draw on my ankles as I stand in the surf.  I especially love the seashells.

I spent a number of hours just walking along the gently swinging edge of the water, stooping every now and then to snatch up one of these bright little treasures.  My mind comes alive during hours spent in monotonous tasks; the simple process of walking, searching and finding is an irresistible romping ground for my thoughts.  I prayed and sorted through my tangled emotions, asking Him to meet me in the quietness and speak to me.  Much of my prayer orbited around the ideas of singleness, womanhood, and beauty.

I often find myself weighed down by the speculation that I am not married because I am not beautiful.  When the mirror or a recent photograph is less than flattering, it's easy to hurl myself into the "back-up plan mode," in which I make a list of the things I could do to make myself more attractive--new makeup, new clothes, new haircut...  This list is somehow a comfort to me; an assurance that there is more I could do to improve my appearance.

The Apostle Peter's simple words dismantle my back-up plan like an earthquake dismantles a house of cards.  "Do not let your adorning be external--the braiding of hair and the putting on of gold jewelry, or the clothing you wear--but let your adorning be the hidden person of the heart with the imperishable beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which in God's sight is very precious."

I was amused to find that my handful of seashells was mostly comprised of simple, round bivalve shells.  Many of them were beautifully colored, but small and smooth, unlike the prized conch shells I had so hoped to find.  Several times I had excitedly pounced on a familiar cone shape in the sand, only to find that its ornate spikes and spirals had been broken off long ago, leaving only a fragmented, cracked skeleton.  My mind wandered past the waves down into the mysterious shadows of the ocean floor, and I imagined these vacant little seashell homes caught up into the currents, knocked against reefs and rocks, crashing into one another, and finally washing up to rest on the wet sand.  The treacherous journey is made safely by the modest little bivalves, but there is not such a happy ending for the elaborate conchs, who leave much of their beauty behind them in the tumult of the waves.  I found myself praying,

Lord, let me be invested in the beauty of my inner self.  Give me beauty that withstands tragedy and trouble, a gentle quietness in the midst of life's disruptive currents.  Help me resist becoming a woman whose only value is in my external adornments; help me remember that these adornments are easily crushed by hardship and worn by time.  When life bears down hard against my body and spirit, let it only shape, smooth and reveal the hidden person You see and treasure.  When I come to rest on the final Shore, I want to present myself to You complete with an imperishable beauty--a beauty that couldn't be broken.