There is something mesmerizing about shells to me. How can something so perfect and beautiful be thrown away by the sea. As I walked the beach for hours this morning listening to music that is so beautiful it makes me cry I walked over thousands of perfect shells. Buried in the sand, in piles, complete and broken, white and pink ... so beautiful in all their forms. The ones I seemed drawn to were the broken ones ... the ones that let you see the perfect smooth symmetry of their inner beauty. Maybe as humans we are drawn to brokenness because it makes us feel okay with our own. Especially when we see the beauty that brokenness can create. Without those beautiful shells breaking down there would be no sand to squish between my sun kissed toes. No sans for me and Daniella (Wilbert's sweet little 13 year old cousin) to make a fabulous castle with. No sand for the little crabs to hide in. And me? Without brokenness, who would I be?
Wilbert´s grandma is here now ... she is hilarious. I am sure that she thinks that I can speak Spanish and she makes these fantastic disgusted looks and then breaks into smiles and giggles. She kind of shuffles around and seems to be half of my height. She has a cataract in one eye ... it makes her eye this cloudy blue color that is quite enchanting to be looked at through.
- H
- I am doing my best to find the good things in my life and cherish them. I love deeply. I laugh hard (so hard I sometimes snort). I still dream and believe that dreams are meant to be followed. I try to depend on God. I have so much to learn. I hope.
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