My shell art is almost complete.
It took me almost a year to collect enough shells from the bay. You craft-wise people would probably ask, “Why didn’t you simply go to the craft store to get your shells?”
I looked at those bags of shells in the store, and told myself, no. I want shells that represent my new locale. So I went down to the bay every week and searched for just the right shells.
Bruce is not into home-made art. He tolerates my need to occasionally paint, or sew, or construct something…
So my “art” will hang in my office. The walls are getting crowded, and the only reasonable space left is behind the computer.
Which is good, because my shell art will remind me of the sea, how I prayed for forty (yes, literally) years before God answered my prayer to live by the ocean again, how the waves and the wind and the salt air settle my mind on the greatness of my God…
how He has established nature’s rhythms: light and dark, high tide and low tide, the arc of the sun, of the moon, the currents of air and the drifting of clouds,
and below, the swell of the deep.
Never mind that the art is not perfect. It’s there to say, “You are where you’ve always dreamed about. God brought you here.”