Beautifully Broken

It started out with a simple search. I was on a mission to find THE most beautiful shell, lying on the sand that had been tossed and turned by the waves, beautiful, whole and in perfect shape. Just like the ones that you can buy in the souvenir shops, but this one, hoisted from the ocean, gently hitting my sun-kissed feet, just for me. Morning after morning, I would walk out to the waves and let the water hit my feet waiting with anticipation for that perfect shell. I had it in my mind, the color, the shape and went away each day with a hint of disappointment that I didn’t effortlessly find the shell.

My “Fun in the Sun” shell bag was full of shells. I found pretty ones, but most of them were broken, still beautiful enough, just beautifully broken.

My family went out to eat the night of my first day of searching for the shell. It was a favorite spot on this island, the atmosphere fun with an open-air restaurant, live music and yummy seafood. We were seated at a little table, where we could see the ocean and feel the cool breeze. Our waitress came to the table and we made small talk when I noticed her arm. There on the inside of her right arm, in an elegant font were written the words, BEAUTIFULLY BROKEN.

Having a love for tattoos and their meanings, I asked about it. She went on to explain that she wasn’t able to discuss it, she should have covered it up. The policy was that women were not allowed to discuss their tattoos with the customers. Men could, women can’t. So now my search shifted.

Why was she beautifully broken?

We ended up talking throughout the meal, as she took great care of our family. I found out she has a son, was married, working several jobs and going to school. Her story unraveled more when she came to my corner of the table, and we talked any chance we could. Her life had been tough, raised by her grandparents, strained relationship with her mom, married to a man who loved her but also loved getting high. She was absolutely beautiful, and yet so broken.

I tried to use my words carefully and encourage her. I  passed on my number, told her I would be praying for her and told her that if she was ever in the Dayton area, she had a place to stay, and I’d love to serve her a meal. At this point, my family was more than eager to go, fighting with two littles as I was talking to my new friend. I told her we would be back before we left for home and hopefully I would see her again. So I hugged my beautifully broken friend and we left to enjoy the rest of our vacation, but something had changed in me.

The next morning, I started my search again. 

This time the search was different. As I looked for shells, I was no longer looking for the perfect whole shell, but rather the tattered, broken pieces, and remains of shells. I was amazed at the beautiful colors and shapes and sizes of the broken shells that were in abundance all over the sand, the pieces that had been overlooked by the other passerbys, the pieces that just yesterday, I had overlooked. I was just sure that those shells had a story to tell.

We went to the end of the island to a popular shelling spot and I filled my bag with beautifully broken shells. My focused had changed. I was seeing beauty in a whole new way. There is beauty in the broken shell, there is a story to tell.

Our last night at the beach, we headed to that same restaurant for our final meal. The live music was perfect and as we were seated, I saw my beautifully broken friend. She was not our server this time and I glanced and noticed that she was wearing tan sleeves to cover her tattoos. What a shame, I thought to myself, she has a story to tell. We chatted and she said she was so happy we came back, we talked like old friends. Before our meal was over, she came and told me that her husband had moved out, she smiled and said it won’t be easy, but she has to do what is best for her and her son. I agreed and told her she was a good momma.

As we left, I hugged her and said that I hope our paths would cross again someday and that I would continue to pray for her and her son.

Moms, we are beautiful and we are broken, just like my beautiful friend Kaysey.

Just like the focus on my search for the perfect shell changed, my focus has changed on looking at others. What has beautifully broken you?

We may feel tattered, beaten, chipped and crushed by the situations and events in our life that change us. We may think that we have to look perfect, be a certain size, look a certain way, be shiny with no visible cracks. The hard truth is that that perfect shell, or the perfect mom, is only available at a souvenir shop.

We are all broken by something, and we are all beautiful.