The Beach

We just got back from the beach on Saturday. We stayed about a week in Panama City Beach and had an absolute blast. One evening as the sun began to set we all went out on the beach and walked around and looked for shells. The best shells we could find were never just laying out in the open where they could be easily picked up. All the really good ones seemed to be in the water about six inches below the surface. Because of this the waves were constantly tossing them around. You had to stay pretty focused on the waves, or at least the break in the waves, to see the big ones worth picking up. And every so often a rogue wave would come rushing in before we could get out of the way and completely soak us. Not that it mattered much, it was just one of the hazards of the hunt. As I looked for the shells I would thrust my hand down at what appeared to be good sized shells. Sometimes I came up with a really good one that was all in one piece and worth keeping. Sometimes it was part of a broken sand dollar or hunk of barnacle that wasn't really good for anything but seeing how many times I could skip it along the waves before it disappeared. As this activity continued I found myself walking farther and farther down the beach away from our condo. As I would find a shell or two in one spot I was compelled to move to a different location. It soon dawned on me that what I was doing was just plain silly. Why did I fell the need to keep moving? Had I actually found ALL of the shells worth keeping in that particular location? Was that now considered barren land after my bountiful harvest of empty critter homes? Surely I must move on to a much "better" place to find the good shells (Insert punchline from the movie Airplane here). My mind soon drifted off and I began to think about how what I was doing with the shells mimicked what I do in my regular day to day life. I always find myself meandering along looking for the next whole "thing" to collect or save. I seem to be constantly looking for the next fancy trinket to end up in a worthless box in a closet somewhere. All the while I've just wandered away from what really matters. God probably looks down at me as I look for the shells and chuckles to himself. He knows exactly what's there for me to find. He also knows that there's more there than I could ever want, need or stuff into my wave soaked shorts. He's probably thinking, "Why are you still searching? Don't you know I've provided all you will ever need? Just stand still and be patient. It's all right there at your feet if you'll just work at it." And that's something I need to remember each and every day, not just while standing on the beach with a pocket full of shells.