When you go to the beach, do you at some point pace the shoreline looking for seashells? Do you only collect the prettiest ones? If they're broken, then they aren't leaving with you. If they aren't perfectly whole, if even a sliver has been broken, it isn't making the cut, right? Every time I enter into this well-worn tradition, the same thought invades my mind, "I'm so glad God isn't like me." I'm glad that God doesn't choose to only love and work through those who are shiny, perfect, and unbroken. During my most recent expedition, a question hovered close behind those thoughts. Is it about more than shells? Is this simple art of shell hunting revealing something about the human heart...my heart? Is most of our time and energy being used toward the wrong things? Have we replaced God with the good things He gave us to enjoy? The Lessons I Learned From a Conch Shell As I searched for the perfect shell, more specifically, the perfect
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