Seashell Gifts

One sleepy morning at Summer Camp, little Libby (changed her name for safety’s sake) moped into the gym where her peers were running amuck, expending energy at an astounding rate (the morning may have been sleepy for me, but kids actually don’t get sleepy: they are either happy and hyper or they are angry and hungry). The moment I saw Libby’s face I knew that something was not right in her world that morning. I motioned her close so I could search out the source of this precious girl’s problems.  As Libby drew near I watched her bite her bottom lip and look down, down, down at her light-up Velcro princess shoes.

 Alarmed by the dejected expression on this normally smiley face, I motioned for Libby to join me on the gym floor. As she sat I asked her what was the matter. She bit her lip again and swallowed hard, answering in a soft voice, “I want the shell.” I brushed a twist of Rapunzel blonde hair from her forehead and asked, “What shell, sweetie?” “The shell Jordan has- the one from vacation. It’s really cool and he has it with him.” Trying to follow, I asked if the shell belonged to her brother, Jordan. She nodded, biting her lip even yet.  “So it’s Jordan’s shell, but you want it?” More nodding and lip-biting. Though it was not hers, Libby desperately wanted this shell. In that moment the facts ceased to matter; I was suddenly overwhelmed with compassion for this little beauty. The fact that I was low on sleep and coffee was entirely forgotten. The fact that Libby was probably wrong to be so jealous of her brother’s shell was of no consequence. The fact that the shell was just a shell became a ridiculous idea: the shell was everything to Libby right then. Wanting more than anything to see her smile again (I’m telling you, that girl could light up a whole city block.), I problem-solved at lightning speed: “Hey, what if I brought you a different seashell from my house? One that I got from a beach in Ireland? What would you think of that? Would that be pretty cool?” The lip-biting stopped, she lifted her head a little, and I saw the faintest glow of a smile. And then I saw a nod. I was ecstatic. Smiling my face off, I told Libby I would retrieve her shell on my lunch break. She nodded and smiled a little more and scuttled off to join the pack.

After she’d gone, I thought about whether I really did want to give up that seashell. I thought about how special my Ireland seashells are to me, about the treasured memories they represent, about how I only have so many of those shells. But then I recalled the sight of Libby’s sorrow giving way to joy at my seashell suggestion. I thought about how I had plenty of other Ireland shells, plenty of memories. She wasn’t really asking for a lot. And it would be easy for me to give her what she so deeply desired. So when my lunch break came, I raced home to pick out just the right shell for Miss Libby. I picked up a small, but very pretty shell and placed it in a snack baggie with a note that said, “For Libby, From Kelsey. Shell from Ireland.” I wanted everyone who saw Libby’s shell to know that it was from Ireland, that it was special and that she was loved.

Driving back to work after my short break, I was surprised by how excited I felt over presenting Libby with this seashell. It seemed so silly. But then it hit me: God the Father must feel this way about us.  I was reminded of the “ask, seek, knock” passage in Matthew 7:

⁹ “Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? ¹⁰ Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? ¹¹ If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!”

So if I, a grumpy, sleepy, selfish, caffeine-deprived camp counselor can give an undeserved gift to a camper, our heavenly Father can give and wants to give infinitely more abundantly. He has infinitely more resources and infinitely more compassion. We only need to trust this and look to him to provide. God has already sacrificed his Son so that we might have life. Surely we can trust his goodness in the little things. Romans 8:32 puts it this way,

32 He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? 

If we believe that God loves us as much as the Scriptures say he does, why would we not trust that our Father deeply desires to dote upon us, his children. He wants us to have his seashells. He wants to help us. He gets excited about it. Jeremiah 32:40-41 says,

40 I will make an everlasting covenant with them: I will never stop doing good to them, and I will inspire them to fear me, so that they will never turn away from me. 41 I will rejoice in doing them good and will assuredly plant them in this land with all my heart and soul.

For me, meditating upon this truth changes the way I relate to God. When I've forgotten God's goodness,  I feel dry. I strive to finish every race by my own strength and I become exhausted quickly. When I am reminded of God's goodness and love, my confidence is renewed and I turn to God for help more often, instead of trying to do everything on my own. When I remember that God gets excited about giving me good gifts, like seashells, I am more apt to trust him with all aspects of my life. I know him as loving Father, not stingy King. I delight in his goodness and seek to give to others what I have been given.