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Broken, yet chosen

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Shells on Clearwater Beach, Florida

Shells on Clearwater Beach, Florida

Recently my husband and I had the opportunity to travel south. One of my favorite pastimes is to look for shells while walking the beach. Each shell’s intricacies never cease to amaze me.

Some portray wholeness
Others appear broken
or partial pieces
Chipped and greatly worn

I see spiny traces
Translucent, fragile exteriors
Various patterns with
Random indentations

Varying degrees of color intensity
Brown, pink, black,
Blue, gray,
and off-white

Sunlight causes one to
Glisten and shine
While another remains flat
and non-descript

Just like shells, people are unique. We display unique characteristics and qualities given to us by our creator, God. We all matter to God. Each represents degrees of stains, joy, and sorrow. No two of us are alike because God created you and me as a special design for a unique purpose in life.

All of us have stories to tell whether they be tragic or more ordinary. Our words may come in the form of an encouraging note to someone hurting. These stories may appear in journal form, newspaper or magazine article, novella, or memoir.

Do you know what special purpose God designed you for?

“Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex! Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it… You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed” – Psalm 139:14–16/NLT

A day in the life of a hermit crab

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My husband and I decide to go on a walkabout along the . The sun shines brightly and there’s a strong northeasterly breeze. I usually have my head downward keeping an eye out for special shells to take back home to Michigan. Then I spy a shell moving. Not only is the shell moving, but a colorful creature inhabits the shell. I point to the fascinating object and Steve immediately rushes over to take photographs and capture the moment.

The crab slowly moves out of range, and Steve carefully picks him up and places him back to where he wants to photograph him. Mr. Crab shrinks inside his borrowed house and pretends he is dead. Soon, he peeks out to see if the coast is clear. I spy his feelers and legs as he proceeds onward to wherever he’d originally intended to travel before we interrupted his journey.

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