I just recently was able to take a much needed break from my “regular” life and spend some quality time with my son in Florida. For a few blessed days I was able to visit with my Dad and an Aunt, and build some memories. We are in the twilight days/years of life for my Dad; for myself and for my son I wanted to squeeze in a few more precious moments. Moments that we will hopefully be able to pull out and relish when there are no more moments to gather.
We are taking separate vacations this Summer, my husband and I are each taking some time with my son to visit relatives. This is the good stuff that I wish our whole family could do together. But life with a medically fragile sister makes these type of trips incredibly difficult.
We live a life that is so very different than many people we know. But our imperfect life has some amazingly beautiful moments.
Walking the beach, my son was attracted to the plain shells to collect. I contemplated why he liked the white ones, the big ones that were whitewashed from time stirred up in the surf, baked in the sunshine. Was it just the size, or could I appreciate they wore their history in the holes and nicks, the flaws that created these unique shapes?
My goal that day was to collect more heart-shaped artifacts to add to my Mom’s memorial garden. Finding things that are heart-shaped can be challenging, the eye is attracted to those shiny, perfect shells. It was then I realized that we were different than others on the beach, the shell-seekers looking for that perfect example of nature’s beauty. What we found was a different kind of grace. The cracked shells, the imperfect shapes, the well-worn surfaces held us in there simple elegance.
We looked beyond their rejected shapes and saw that for us, there really is beauty in imperfection.