Just before Karen died, she had been reading a book she received as a gift from JoAnn by Rodale Press for Hallmark. It was actually for both of us, but Karen was the reader in the family.
The book was 50 things that really matter. She didn’t get through all 50 … her last chapter was 32.
This book celebrates 50 of the simple things that really do matter in life. Within its pages are first person stories about the value of conversing over a good cup of coffee, the importance of hugs, the courage of living a simple life, the wisdom in a street musician’s words, the peace and relaxation in watching a candle flame.
I’m going to share some of these stories — the first person stories followed by my two cents worth — to encourage you, enlighten you and enrich your soul. But, most of all, I hope they may inspire you to see the real value in life.
This is the latest excerpt from 50 things that really matter.
For me, seashells are the best proof that there’s a creator. Buried in the dark, sandy seafloor or living hundreds — even thousands — of feet below the ocean’s surface, these fragile, uniquely beautiful “houses” go unseen.
While their occupants are alive, the intricate shapes and patterns of the seashells often are concealed beneath a fleshy covering, their beauty serving no apparent purpose. Shells could be plain and serviceable and still fulfill their protective role. But instead, they feature exquisite forms and colors.
I like to think the beauty is there to remind us of the one who created the diverse beauty of our world for His own delight.
Each time I hold a shell, I, too, feel that delight and am reminded that sometimes, like shells, our true beauty is only apparant after we’ve passed from our Earthly life.
By Ellen Phillips, 50 things that really matter, Rodale Press for Hallmark
Seashells and the sea shore have a special bond with me as well. I’ve already documented how the ocean’s ebb and flow and the sea breeze reconnects me with our Creator.
Over the years, I have been known to pick up a seashell or two. I have them scattered around the house. When I made the trek to the Jersey shore after Karen died, I made a point of picking seashells for the then 14 grandchildren … each slightly different in shape and/or color to match their unique personalities. It was my hope those little seashells would be a connection for them as well.
THOUGHT TO REMEMBER: What we anticipate seldom occurs; what we least expect generally happens.