The Broken Ones

One of my favorite things to do is walk along the beach and search for shells, interesting looking rocks, sand dollars, etc.  I was blessed in that this year I got to spend both Christmas and New Year's near the beach.  This is a beach I grew up going to, and I have vivid memories of building sandcastles, braving the cold Pacific ocean waters, carefully walking along the pier in order to not lose my flip-flop in the cracks.  I can remember one trip the beach was covered in sand dollars, and I wanted to pick up every single one of them.  It felt like I had hit the jackpot - the thing that I would carefully search for and be lucky if I found even one, and that day the collecting seemed limitless!  I remember bringing home an entire bucket-full - not sure exactly what I was going to do with them, but could not bear to pass up such a rare occasion.

There had been a storm along the coast a few weeks prior, so the beach had more ocean debris on it than usual, mostly rocks, but also a fair amount of shells.  On New Year's morning, I headed down to the beach, though my visions of a peaceful walk along the beach were somewhat interrupted by people gathering for the Polar Plunge that was going to be taking place at noon.  I walked slowly, as I visually searched the sand, looking for something to catch my eye.  There were many portions of shells, but I wanted something that was not broken, or at least as close to whole as possible.  As I turned over more and more shells to determine if they were worth picking up, this thought dawned upon me:
Why won't I keep a broken one?  Why have I decided that a chip, a crack, a hole, or other imperfection means it is not worth anything?

Sure, I could have said, Oh Alyssa, this is just shells on a beach.  Of course, you want to pick up the ones that are the most attractive, the most pretty to look at.  But something inside me was very unsettled.  

Do I view other things in the world in this same way?  Do I view myself this way?  Am I worried that God combs the beach, only finding the beautiful, perfect ones worthy of His love?

It started when I was small.  I would pick up broken sand dollars, and someone would tell me, That one is broken, Let's see if we can find one that isn't.  A seemingly harmless comment, and typically later I would be able to find one that was not broken, or at least close to it.  Some beach-combing endeavors ended with no loot, nothing worthy of being kept - nothing that I would want to look back on. 

But this time was different.  I was not comfortable picking up broken shells.  More than that, I realized that I struggle to believe when I am broken, when I am not whole and put-together, that I am not going to be picked up.  That no one is going to look twice at me, much less pick me up.  I might get lucky if there are no other pretty shells on the beach, and be chosen by fault, but if there is a whole sand dollar lying next to me, forget it.

Why is it that when other people are feeling down and out, broken and despised, I am so quick to lead them to the feet of Jesus, and remind them of His abundant and limitless love, grace, faithfulness, forgiveness.  Yet I so often do not recognize, believe, and live in those truths for myself.

Do I believe that Christ would choose me, just as I am, broken and lying in the sand, a bit battered from the journey of life?  

And even more than that,

Do I believe broken is beautiful?  That it is good enough?  Can I accept the inevitable brokenness within myself - my faults, my failures, my shortcomings, and still believe I am worth it?

So I had a new mission.  Find something that was broken that I thought was beautiful.  I thought it would be easy after the above epiphany, but it was a struggle.  Sure, there were plenty of broken things to choose from.  I kept trying to convince myself that they were good enough - that I could pick up that broken shell and treasure it.  

I finally found one.  I picked it up and held it in my hand.  I could see it's beauty, but it was also that it was clearly broken.  Incomplete.  Imperfect.  Lacking.  But I love it.  I saw myself in it.  And I wanted it.  I chose it.  I deemed it worthy of being kept and treasured and cherished.

I am worth it.  I am treasured.  I am cherished.