The first time we took Matthew to the beach he had just turned 3. He was so excited to play in the sand. Dressed in a red bathing suit, sweet little sandals and a plastic back pack filled with sand toys. He paused at the bottom step, unsure of the sand and if he should step on it. He finally jumped down - both feet firmly in the hot, soft sand and carefully tip-toed his way down to the water. It was cute - and of course I was there to take the picture...
As long as I've been taking pictures of Matthew on the beach, I've had in mind an arts-and-crafts project. I've wanted to collect seashells, glue them onto some kind of picture frame and then frame the best 'beach-picture' of Matthew I could take. Maybe I would then give the whole thing to mom or someone as a gift. Maybe if I ever did a beach-themed room in my house it would be the perfect, personalized decor. I got the idea from a very crafty ex-sister-in-law of mine who framed my niece's baby picture in this pink satin with pearly-looking beads and pink flowers she glued all around the edges. So that was my plan. And I wanted it to be perfect! (That ex-sister-in-law wasn't the only crafty one in the family!)
A day or two into our first beach trip, we grabbed Matthew's little sand pail and set off down the shore line in search of the perfect seashell. In my mind they had to be just the right size, smallish and thin, in order to properly stick to the picture frame. I wanted them to be that iconic shaped, scallop shell and preferrably sand-colored with the right grooves and edges. I didn't want any cracked shells, no chips and none with that little hole in the back of it. It was going to be a beautiful frame! I figured I'd break out my glue gun as soon as we got home. We just had to find the perfect shells.
We walked along combing the beach for the different seashells. I inspected each one I picked up for color, size, damage, perfection. Only the best of the best would go into the bucket. Matthew, on the other hand, would pick up dirty, broken shells, shells with holes in them or covered in barnacles. And his favorite ones seemed to be the ugly step-sisters of the shell world, the oyster shells. "Matthew, that one is an oyster shell, honey. Let's find some like these", I said as I showed him the sweet little shells that I had collected.
But he liked the oyster shells and the holey shells, chipped and broken and ugly shells. He continued to put them in the bucket while I secretly removed them. When he caught me tossing out his shells he got mad. Ultimately we came home from our first beach trip with a sack full of mixed shells. Ugly oyster shells and perfect, sweet scallop shells. Not enough of either kind to make a respectable beach-themed frame. My arts-and-crafts project would have to wait for another time...
From that time till the very last beach trip we took it's been the same thing. I set out to find the perfect seashells and Matthew invades my bucket with busted up, ugly shells. My project is still undone. I could have done the whole thing on my own but really I've always wanted him to help. I wanted him to search for the perfect shells with me and he and I could glue the shells to the frame together. Each year as he grew older I hoped that he was finally able to understand the importance of finding the flawless shells, so my - our - picture frame would be beautiful. Nope. Nothing but barnicle encrusted, broke down oyster shells.
A few weekends ago Matthew and I took a little trip down to Atlantic Beach. I had been there before and remembered the amounts of shells on the shoreline. The sand was covered with thousands of them, all different kinds of shells, sand dollars and sea rocks. You didn't have to look long before finding the perfect, little scallop shells in just the right size, shape and color. Maybe this time Matthew and I would collect a bucket-full of the little shells to finally finish the project.
So early that morning we picked up the sand bucket and headed down the beach on a seashell hunt. And then, just like I hoped he wouldn't, Matthew bent down and grabbed up the first broken shell he came to. "I knew you would pick that one, Matthew", I said smiling. "Why do you always pick up the broken shells?"
"They're still shells, even though some of them are broken. And I think this one is pretty", he answered, putting the damaged find into the bucket. He walked along, picking up one imperfect shell after another. He never overly-inspected a single one, he didn't scrutinize the seafood housing for a sratch or dent, didn't judge its color or size or shape. He just picked them up, liked them and kept them. And then I realized that what he was doing was one of the things I love most about him. He sees the best in people, why wouldn't he see the best in the shells as well? He doesn't judge, he doesn't discriminate, he doesn't pick and choose. He has a heart for the picked-on kids with no friends, homeless people and folks down on their luck. He loves people for the simple fact that we're called to love - even imperfect people ... and evidently he does the same with seashells. And because he's done this as long as he's been going to the beach - I know that's how his heart works. Not because he's supposed to, but because he can't help it! It's an overflow of God's love for him!
Tumbling along the sea bottom for miles and miles at the mercy of the tide until finally landing on the sand being washed ashore by a wave, it's a wonder any shells at all end up on the coastline whole. Then the shells are picked clean by seagulls, trampled over by the beach combers, picked up and discarded by people looking for just the right shape, size, color, perfection. It would be very hard to make the entire journey from once being the housing for some sea-creature to possibly becoming one in someone's collection of beach-trinkets without getting broken, discolored or growing barnicles. If I were a shell, I would be left behind.
Lucky for the actual seashells there are people like Matthew. Because Matthew overlooks flaws and imperfections, the broken shells and ugly oyster shells get a chance to go home in a sand pail and be apart of a kid's collection. And lucky for me there's Jesus. Jesus picked me out of a pile of broken and imperfect people and loved me despite my flaws. He picked me up, dusted the sand off of me and put me in his bucket - to take me home with Him to be a part of his collection! How lucky a shell I am! Despite my barnicles and brokeness, no matter what kind of rough, damaging seas I rode in on, He loved me anyway. And He saved me from being trampled and completely destroyed by the sunbathers and seagulls!
After that, I found myself looking for the "perfect broken shell", even taking pictures of the best of them. I don't guess I'll ever finish my beachy picture frame - and that's going to be ok. I learned a lesson that day while looking for the perfect seashells. No one's perfect - and Jesus loves us anyway. So I shouldn't expect to find perfection in others (shells included) and overlook what is not. Maybe I'll make that picture frame afterall. But I'll make it with broken, ugly oyster shells! Sounds perfect!
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