An Imperfect Seashell and a Perfect Savior

I can think of only one time I visited the beach as an adult when I didn’t take a walk along the edge of the water, where your footprints melt away underneath you and the breeze feels like solace. That one time was after an injury that required surgeries and had severely limited my mobility for months. So, when I visited a few weeks ago for the first time since recovering, I didn’t take that beach walk for granted.

There’s something inspiring about being at the edge – the edge of the water, the edge of the map, the edge of whatever it is you may be rushing toward. Few places feel more beautiful to me than the coast. When the blue of the sky blends into the sapphire water and sunlight rides the tops of the waves, I feel a calm that is unlike anything else. There is also something humbling about the reminder of how small a space we occupy in this world. Nothing on earth is as vast as the ocean, and standing at its edge makes that clear.

Of course, when I walk on the beach, I spend a lot of time looking down, waiting for that perfect seashell or shark’s tooth to appear. On this walk, I saw a shell several steps ahead of me. It was weathered gray, standing out against the sand. As I neared it, I saw the fullness of its shape – a beautiful arch topping a squared bottom. That idealized, perfect shape we all recognize was just sitting there waiting for me to pick it up. Someone walking ahead of me hadn’t been looking closely enough and missed what looked like a perfect souvenir.

But when I brushed away the grains of sand, I saw the shape was less than perfect. Along the top edge, a large sliver was missing, as if something had taken a bite out of it. Down one side, two smaller pieces were gone as well. What a shame, I thought – so close to perfection.

I started to toss it back into the water but instead slipped it into my pocket. Later, I washed the sand from it and looked again. Freed from the grit, the color deepened into a richer gray, almost blue in places. The inside was smooth and sturdy. The edges where the perfect shape had been broken weren’t jagged, but worn smooth. Those imperfections had been there a long time.

So, did the imperfections take away the shell’s beauty? Was the lack of perfection enough to ruin it – enough to justify casting it aside in the search for a gift‑shop version of perfection?

How many of us, when we realize we aren’t perfect and don’t measure up to our ideal, feel unworthy? How often do we fear that once people see our flaws, they’ll move on and keep searching for someone unblemished? If people are seashells, then we’ve all been tossed around the ocean. We’ve been nipped at by predators, jostled against rocks, and knocked against each other.

At some point, before anyone looked too closely, every surface was perfect and we shone under the sunlight. Then came the day we were thrown onto the sand, far from what had been familiar. What once felt like our most important purpose was behind us, and whether we completed it well or not, that time was gone. Perfection was just over there, just beyond the water’s edge. A high tide looked promising enough to carry us back to where we’d been before – before our imperfections were noticeable. The tide had not only tossed us while we were in the water but was the one that had pushed us up onto the beach. Yet it’s that sweep of water that we’re searching for, that we’re chasing, to take us back to the very place where we gained those imperfections.

Does God shake his head watching us vainly passing by the broken ones to chase the image we have in our minds? I wonder if He looks at us and wonders why we’re so fixated on finding the perfect shell, the one we take home to remember our vacation. The ones from the gift-shop. We didn’t find them, and we certainly didn’t contribute to their beauty. But those are the ones we often hold as the standard for the perfect shell.

Because surely God only loves the perfect ones, the ones all cleaned up and shiny. The ones we display as the ideal. Surely that’s true.

Except it’s not.

When we were created, God knew that once sin entered the picture, we were going to have to live in a broken world as broken people in need of His grace. He knew we’d have jagged edges, marked by things others did to us and by things we can’t blame on anyone but ourselves. He knew that any illusion of perfection wouldn’t hold up once we were lifted out of the sand. We’ve all become good at hiding our broken edges, showing the world only the angles we want them to see. Too often, when people notice the rough places, they toss us back and continue their search.

---

But God doesn’t toss us back. He takes us home and places us in the prized spot on the mantle. II Corinthians 12:9 shows us how His power shines through our cracks:

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

---

Like shells worn thin by waves, our weaknesses and missing pieces don’t disqualify us from His love. Those very weaknesses become the places where His strength shines through. He uses us to do His work, and no number of rough edges makes Him see us as unworthy. In our brokenness, He loves us enough to reach across the universe for us. Even though we’re cracked, chipped, and incomplete, He works through all of it.

He doesn’t discard us because we’re not gift‑shop‑worthy, and He doesn’t expect flawless perfection. He knows perfect shapes aren’t attainable for us. But knowing we’re not perfect and tossing us away are not the same thing. He looked out at an ocean full of imperfection and sent His Son to redeem us.

We’re not perfect, but I know who is. Jesus Christ was perfect and took on the weight of all our cracks. He accepted the scars we thrust on Him and restored us. When we’re left on the beach, Jesus stops to pick up every shell that falls short. Through His life, we are made whole, and one day we’ll be the absolute perfect shape.

Imagine walking down the beach and picking up every single broken shell – and not just picking them up but restoring them. That’s what Jesus does.

When you find that perfect shell in the gift shop, chances are its origins are quite different from the ones on the beach. Beautiful? Yes. Perfect? They certainly look like it. A realistic image of the shells you find on the shore? Probably not. Those shells in the plastic cases likely didn’t even come from the nearby water and definitely didn’t survive the ride to the shore.

Maybe we should realize we’re like my little gray shell – resting on the beach after a rough ride. A ride that tossed us around and left us in an unfamiliar place full of judgment and competition against perfection. And Jesus is walking the coast, weaving in and out of the water looking for us. He is searching for holes and cracks to heal, for dirty spots to cleanse, and for the rough edges to restore.