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Our six-year-old is enthralled with seashells. On our recent vacation, she collected shells, put them next to our beach chairs, and praised each one’s distinctive elements. “Look at the color of this one, the shape of that one, the size of this one.”

The only problem was, most of the shells were broken.

Strictly speaking, our daughter didn’t have a collection of seashells but a pile of fragments. We had to watch where we walked, because if we stumbled into the jagged edges, our bare feet would let us know.

“These are broken, honey,” I say.

“Yes, but look at the colors, the shape, the edges.”

I smile at my daughter’s enthusiasm for worthless shells, realizing that one day, she’ll seek out the right kind and leave the shell fragments alone.

And suddenly I wonder: Is it my perspective that needs changing? Are mine the eyes that have grown old? Does she see beauty I am blind to?

My daughter’s marveling at broken seashells comes from a childlike wonder – gratitude that such amazing items exist at all and that we are able to see and touch them.

To a child, it is silly to think that a broken edge could somehow diminish the value of a seashell. The edge is simply a testament to the waves that brought the shell to shore – waves which provide another source of continual amazement.

“Look at the edges, Daddy. They’re beautiful.”

A little girl sees the beauty in a broken seashell. And perhaps in this is a parable, that the perspective of a little girl stands against an old and cynical world that ties worth to perfection.

Yes, the beauty of a perfectly preserved seashell is enhanced because it is hard to find among its many fragmented brothers and sisters, and yet even the fragments contain the beauty of their origin, inviting the observer to imagine their former glory. And, once placed in a little girl’s seashell collection, the shattered glory is alive again.

Perhaps the delight of a little girl in broken seashells resembles a God who loves to pick up the fragments of shattered lives and gently put them back together again…

… a God who sees how the waves of life batter and rage against us, and who doesn’t love us any less.

… a God who chooses the foolish to confound the wise, the weak to shame the strong.

… a God who offered Himself up to be broken, so the world could be put back together again.

… a God who showcases broken seashells – knowing what we once were and, better yet, what we will one day become.

“Let the little children come.” Maybe because, like God, they love the broken seashells.

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