Shelling hasn’t been good this year. 

I wander the beach in the morning, often by myself. But when I happen upon a local or a long-time snowbirder, this is what we talk about. 

“Find any good ones?” 

“Nope. How about you?” 

And then the tales begin. People who live in this stretch of Florida‘s east coast have time to talk and remember. New friends become old friends in a matter of visits and if you’re not careful, you can get pulled into an early dinner or game of Pickleball before you know what’s happening.

Conversations wander freely (kind of like this post) as you learn about the kids and the grandkids, the weather “back home” and upcoming appointments.

It’s slow here and it’s really quite lovely.

Back to the shells. 

I’ve been tidying up this week. Jeff was away and I was trying to use my “stay-cation” as a time to get ahead and prepare for my Iowa kids to visit in a couple of weeks. I tend to allow my work to flow into the guest room in this home away from my home office. 

In years past, I would have boxes, upon boxes of big beautiful shells washed and packed away for the trip home by now. This year, there is one solitary shoe box half full of my treasures. I caught myself distracted by it in the middle of my dusting. 

Tiny treasures fill the box. Some of the shells are broken— not as perfect as they seemed in the early morning light, on the day I found them. But they are beautiful, even with their ragged edges or muted colors. 

Others are perfect— every curve intact, every color pristine. But often these shells are tiny and it’s a miracle that I even saw them hiding in the sand. But, I suppose, if I consider that I find them at a time when my mind and heart are caught up in the petitions of my early morning visits with God, it’s not such a miracle after all. He does good things every day— often we just have to look closer to see the good.

I rejoice each time I find one of these tiny treasures, offering thanks and pausing to remember someone on my ever-growing list of prayers. 

Maybe this is the lesson in a slow shelling season—learning to appreciate the small, overlooked, and imperfect things. It is a reminder that beauty doesn’t have to be grand to be meaningful, and sometimes the most precious treasures aren’t the ones we expect to find.

So I’ll keep walking, keep looking, and keep praying. Because whether the shells are plentiful or scarce, the gifts are always there—waiting to be seen.