By Naomi Silseth
The ocean seems a perfect place for thinking. Something about the open endlessness and the never-changing, yet ever-changing waves lulls one into a meditative state of mind. This trip to the beach was no exception. Over the course of the first day, I had thought about a succession of subjects: from the state of the world to the state of my life, from the past to the future.
I left my chair and began strolling down the sand. On my mind particularly was a picture Id seen in a magazine. The guesthouse had a small stash people had left, the only English one being the Indian version of Marie Claire (much, much more tasteful than the Western version). A photo essay had caught my attention: Food for a Week. Families from various countries were photographed in their house with all the food they ate in a typical week. A mother and three children in a refugee camp in Darfur, Sudan squatted in front of their tent with a 2-kilo bag of rice, a liter or so of oil, and a few small piles of spices or dried meat. Thats it.
How can I help them? What can I do? I want to make the world a better place, and not just by giving money. What can I do as a young girl with no experience?
For that matter, what should I do about my contract? Should I keep teaching indefinitely? How long should I stay in China? What about the other, more personal questions that had been vexing me?
I walked on, stewing more and more, and working myself into an emotional frenzy. Then I saw it. I bent down, gently prying it out of the sand and carefully rinsing it in the next wave. A seashell, still hinged and open like a butterfly, the inside a deep amethyst, the outside an abstract design of tan lines on a cream base. Perfect and so beautiful.
And I remembered Gods promise to me.
On another beach, far away and several years ago, I had been sitting, staring at the ocean and contemplating college choices. Financial aid packages, majors, accommodations, jobsat the time it all seemed so overwhelming. I stared down at the sand in frustration and confusion, my eyes scanning the jumble of items that had washed up on shore. Somehow it caught my attention: a small shell, no larger than the nail on my smallest finger. It was perfectly formed in the shape of a mountain peak, with elaborate designs wrought in shades of brown on its slopes.
Gods gentle whisper breathed in my heart: Look how tiny the seashell is, yet see how beautifully I have decorated it. If I care enough to paint the smallest shell in the sea, then surely I care so much more for you! Trust me. I love you; I will lead and guide you.
A great peace descended on my heart.
Last winter found me on a beach in Vietnam, once again staring out at the sea with troubled thoughts. Once again I contemplated the future with confusion and fear. Abstractly sifting through the sand, I found a shell that had been neatly sheared in half, revealing the elaborate chambers within.
Once again God whispered: Remember what I promised you on that beach in Honduras? Remember how I have always led you and provided for you?
I remembered and praised, and peace filled my heart.
Once more, on the beach in Myanmar, God-in His personal and romantic way-had reminded me of His great love for me and the surety of His guidance. I walked down the beach laughing and crying and singing, my heart overflowing with a peace that is beyond understanding.
For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord. They are plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.