The Perfect Shell

I once sent a card to my dad with the inscription, 'It is perhaps a more fortunate destiny to be born a collector of seashells than a man of wealth.'  How true.  For seashells are perfect gifts...simple, elegant, beautifully designed, and free to those willing to search for them.

I searched for the perfect shell once.  I was searching for much more, but I made a bargain with the seashore.  I convinced myself that if I found the perfect shell - a beautiful, spiraled treasure with a pearly pink interior and geometric star shaped crown, one that had not been crushed or broken by the onslaught of tides and the rough abrasion of sand - I would know my prayers had been answered, my peace restored, my life put back together again.  I searched for days, eyes to the sand while the warm salty air swirled around me and the kids played in the surf nearby.  I picked up shell after shell, seeing the perfect crown or the side of it jutting from it's soft bed, only to discover when I retrieved it that is was imperfect, broken, not the shell I needed so desperately to find.  I began to lose hope.

Then on the final day of my search, when I'd almost given up on the quest, I spotted the pale brown side of the perfect shell.  The crown was smooth, all the points still there...it was just large enough to fit in my hand, I picked it up gingerly, then almost threw it back when I saw that, once again, the side had been broken, it was not what I sought.  Then I noticed the pearly, gleaming pink of the inside of this shell, and I paused.  I was taken by the absolute smoothness , the luminescence of this protected inner surface that is often dismissed as we look for the perfect exterior peeking through the sand.  And it hit me.  This was the answer I sought, the metaphor for my life, the vision I needed. 

You see, we are much like this shell.  It is created by the creature who calls it home, from the inside out.  As it grows, the shell grows, spiralling ever outward.  The outer layer of the shell becomes ever more symmetrical, ordered, solid, strong.  It is battered by the elements, tossed in the surf, thrown onto the sand and then grabbed hungrily by the retreating waves to be dragged back into the sea once more.  All the while, the tiny inhabitant is protected, surviving, continuing to create the shelter it needs.  And the material it creates around itself  is smooth, beautiful, pearlescent, serene.  We all have an outer shell, and we've been building it since we were children, adding to it, pushing it outward for the world to see.  We've been tossed by the waves, thrown upon the sand, and dragged back into the fray of life again and again.  Some don't survive.  They abandon the shell, seeking something better, or give up entirely.  If we are strong we remain inside our shell as the tides of life toss us about, and we keep building.  The longer we survive, keep fighting against the storms of life, the more beat up our outer shell becomes,  the stronger our inner shell becomes.  We build within ourselves a soft place to fall, a protected place polished smooth by the wisdom we've gained and the ability to let go of anger, resentment, and fear.  What we build is beautiful, smooth, pearlescent, serene. 

I needed not to find the perfect seashell, but to see the strength within myself. The sea had held up its end of our bargain.  I held my treasure close, and joined my babies in the foam.....