For the last two days, the weather has been really nice in our corner of Texas. Brian’s been off from work and we’ve spent much of both days running errands and catching up on some things. But as we’ve driven home, the baby has started squealing “Beach! Beach!” in the back seat. So, we’ve had two impromptu field trips to the beach.
I sold four of my oyster-shell necklaces this week, so I’ve been on the hunt for some new shells to design with. I’ve found a beautiful black oyster shell, a few smaller oyster shells, and some unbroken bi-valve shells that Brian thinks I should make into earring pairs. I even found half of a sand dollar, and they’re hard to come by anymore.
Today, as we headed back to the car, I saw it. A giant angel wing. Probably the length of my hand, from fingertip to wrist. White, ridged, gracefully arced. Angel wings of all sizes are fairly common on our beach, but they’re usually crushed in some way. This one wasn’t. It was perfect. I stopped and stared for a second, then said to Brian and Carrie, “There it is, the perfect angel wing.”
I started to reach down to pick it up and take it with me, but realized it wouldn’t be a good piece for jewelry because they’re so fragile. It wouldn’t do to put so much time and work into a shell, setting and glazing it, and then selling it, knowing that the buyer would likely wind up with broken jewelry sooner rather than later.
On the way home, I thought about that shell more. What if God had thought that about our salvation? That he would put the time and work in sending His son, Jesus, only to see the gift broken in our hands? What if He’d decided the work wasn’t worth it?