Life is too short for all the lessons. Some days I remember that, some days I pay attention. I listen harder, look closer, touch more.
The lessons are all around me. They are in every atom, and every conglomeration of atoms, and all the invisible business of an atomic nature.
I saw the Painter in His brush strokes today. Seems there are always so many lessons at the sea.
I saw the shells. Like flowers from the hand of the sea for her mistress the shore. I saw an upturned shell, sun bleached and hemmed in by sand, I imagined its first taste of rain. I saw in every single one the Earth's Engineer, His math in their endless patterns. In every spiral and radial sequence.
I see the boats, like the split bellies of a great fish. Wooden rib cage, wooden skin. Ancient men learned their lessons and then conquered the surface of the sea. What will I learn today?
A child searched for sea glass so I helped him. He liked the blue best, held his breath every time I poured my finds into his tiny hand. "Blue!" He squealed.
The sea takes the careless trash of humanity and gives us back a humble gem. Smooths the jagged edges. (This is that lesson.) I am that glass, desperate (and ever resistant) to be tumbled and water worn around all my roughness, to be smoothed on my sharpest spots, by God's boundless ocean of Grace.