Washed Ashore

"Vulnerability is our most accurate measurement of courage"
- Brené Brown

A few years back, we were on a beach vacation in Florida.  One morning I got the girls out of bed early and took them down to the beach to watch the sunrise in our pajamas.  I brought along a few bagels for breakfast and an empty pickle jar I had saved for the occasion.  We watched the ball of fire rise up from the water as we ate our bagels on the cool sand.  After the sun was up, we took the pickle jar I brought and knelt in the sand together.  I talked to the girls about the times in the Bible when something significant happened and people built altars to mark the significance of what had taken place there.  I told them that our pickle jar was to become an altar to mark the sunrise we had shared together on the beach.  We scooped up sand by the handful and made wishes as it ran between our fingers into the jar.  Then we searched for shells to place on top of the sand so we could take the memory home with us.  

As my daughters excitedly found shells for our altar, I found myself silently critiquing their selection.  I had hoped for the most beautiful shells we could find, as I planned to transfer the sand and shells to a vase to display on our mantle.  But instead, the girls brought me fragments of shells, misshapen shells.  To my dismay, my initial reaction was disappointment.  As I held out the pickle jar to collect their treasures, I realized that the problem lay within me, that my definition of beauty needed altering.  I let out a sigh as I let go of my idea of perfection and chose to instead embrace the perfection of the moment.  

Here is the shell that I found for our altar.

I laughed aloud when I found it, envisioning a youth group activity on the beach in which people write things on shells and cast them into the ocean to be rid of them.  

But here's what we know about the ocean - everything washes ashore eventually.  

I reveled in the irony of a shell that said, "Weakness."  Isn't this just like us?  Don't we, in so many ways, hurl into the ocean things that we find unacceptable, parts of ourselves of which we are ashamed, memories we'd just as soon forget, decisions we regret, things of which we wish to be free - only to look down and see those things washed up amidst the seaweed and the broken bottle pieces, once again laying at our feet? Don't we try to adorn our mantles with vases containing picture perfect shells rather than fragments?  Don't we try to seek perfection, desperately searching for things that meet our definition of beauty?

For a very long time, I tried to hurl my weaknesses into the sea, far enough that they would never wash ashore.  I tried to present only "perfect" shells to the world, until I felt like a shell of my former self.  I am done with that now.  Now I am into truth-telling.  I am into accepting shell fragments from the ones that I love, finding them perfectly imperfect and beautiful just as they are.  I am into collecting the parts of myself that would wash ashore anyway and displaying them in jars instead of casting them into the ocean.  

I think what it is is vulnerability.  Brené Brown says that is our most accurate measure of courage.  To me, it just feels like freedom.