The Perfectly Imperfect Seashell

Decorating the inside of my home for fall requires me to temporarily store the shells I usually display. I have amassed quite a collection from years of beach-combing. For many years, I hand-selected only the whitest white or most vibrant colored, whole, fully textured, true-to-form, shells with as few imperfections visible to the naked eye as possible. A who’s who of shells.

When my youngest daughter, Lydia, was big enough to know better than to eat the shells, she began collecting shells with me. I’ll never forget the first time Lydia brought me her first haul. I immediately noted the differences in her collection and mine. Her shells were chipped or broken in places; others were so worn they no longer bore the usual seashell pattern, and some weren’t shells at all but instead were rocks.

I almost said something to Lydia, but thankfully my motherly instincts kicked in and reminded me, “There is no right or wrong way to collect shells, Kim.” OK, so my husband actually said that to me out loud. It wasn’t my instincts. It takes a village, y’all.

Lydia is now 15 years old and my shell collection has completely changed over the years. Instead of a collection of pristine, near-perfect shells, my collection is now home to chipped, cracked, grey or brown, worn seashells, some whole and some in pieces. Every year on the beach she hands them to me to put in the bucket to bring home, and I’ve still never once asked her why she has chosen any of them. She clearly sees some quality in each and every shell that makes her want to choose it. She finds beauty in the cracks, in the grey, in the worn edges, in the fragments and pieces that were once whole but aren’t any longer.

I’m not sure why I felt the need to choose only the most perfect shell specimens on the beach for all of those years. I’m sure it’s nothing a few counseling sessions couldn’t fish out. I bypassed a lot of beauty and a lot of interesting shells with a goal that was most likely unattainable in the first place. Thankfully my daughter came along and set me straight. Funny, how kids tend to do that.

I am that imperfect seashell with my cracks, crevices, dull colors, fragments and pieces on full display, no matter how many layers of sand I would like to hide them under. Just like Lydia chooses her seashells regardless of their imperfections, my God chooses to love me regardless of mine. My parents, my husband, my kids, and my friends all love this imperfect me. They have never loved a perfect me because there has never been a perfect me to love. I have already been chosen just the way I am. So have you. And isn’t that beautiful?

Related posts:

Bloomfield Hills had a challenging season this year in the win column after making the playoff’s the previous season. You can say losing a bunch of seniors was the major difference this season but…

I was extremely disappointed to learn of how a friend of mine finished up his 41 years at an organisation of which he had formerly been the CEO. After so many years of service, many spent in a senior…

Socialization is a vital aspect of a dog’s development as it helps them become well-adjusted, confident, and friendly, making them happier and safer pets. It also prevents unwanted behaviors and…