There is something so magical about walking along the beach. Toes in the sand. The fresh salty air blowing through your hair. The sound of crashing waves. Some of the beaches I call home are found in beautiful British Columbia, Canada, where my parents have lived for 22 years. A part of me craves walking those shores every year, as if my soul needs to be replenished by their majestic, powerful beauty. But the thing I love the most on any beach I find my toes sinking into is searching for sand dollars resting quietly in the sand. They are so small and delicate, and yet so perfectly made. I love to hold one in the palm of my hand and study the unique, intricate pattern pressed into its surface—the tiny petals, the beautiful symmetry, the details that somehow survived the sea. Their pale, almost pure color makes them seem like little treasures washed clean and left behind for someone to find. For me to find.
My trip to the beaches of Canada this summer brought me my most precious sand dollar experience yet. The beach we found ourselves on usually greets us with overcast skies, and rarely have we been there when the tide has found its way wandering far from the shore. But on this particular day, the sun was warm, the sky was clear, and the tide reached out far from view. There was sand waiting for my toes as far as the eye could see.
As we wandered and explored, we found many treasures. Some alive, some abandoned by the creatures who once called these treasures their home. As I walked, listened, and breathed in the salt-stained air, I happened upon the tiniest little sand dollar I had ever seen. It couldn’t have been larger than the tip of my pinky finger. And here is the amazing part: it was perfect. Not a dent or crack could be seen on its perfectly patterned shell. Finding this little treasure touched my soul. I was in awe of the journey it must have taken before it made its way to me. What a story this sand dollar could tell.
I sometimes wonder where they have been before they reach the shore. How many waves have carried them? How many times have they been pulled out to sea and pushed back again? They are tossed to and fro, turned over and over by water far more powerful than they are. And yet, somehow, some of them make it to the beach still whole. Maybe that is one of the reasons I love them so much. They remind me of us.
Life has a way of tossing us around, too. There are seasons when we feel carried gently along and others when the waves seem relentless. We are pulled in directions we never expected. We are knocked over, turned around, and sometimes left wondering where the current is taking us. There are moments when we feel every bit as fragile as a sand dollar caught in the surf. And still, we survive.
Perhaps we don’t arrive on the other side completely untouched. Maybe the waves leave their marks on us. Maybe there are chips along our edges or places where we have become more fragile. But there is still something beautiful within us—something the waves could not wash away.
I love stepping barefoot onto the sand and feeling it find its way between my toes. I love walking toward the water until the cold waves reach my feet, then standing there as they rush around my ankles and pull the sand from beneath me as they return to the sea. There is something about that feeling that makes me want to stay. To listen. To look down. To search. And then, every once in a while, there it is.
Suddenly, I am bending down like a child who has discovered buried treasure. I carefully lift it from the sand, afraid I might break something so delicate. And somehow this tiny, simple thing can bring an immense amount of joy. Maybe that is part of its lesson, too.
Joy doesn’t always arrive loudly. Sometimes it is small enough to fit into the palm of your hand. Sometimes it is hidden beneath a thin layer of sand, waiting for someone willing to slow down long enough to notice it.
A sand dollar has survived the waves. It has been carried, tossed, buried, uncovered, and carried again. Yet when it finally reaches the shore, someone sees it and calls it beautiful. I think we are a little like that.
We can be tossed by the waves of life and still carry beauty within us. We can endure things that feel much bigger and stronger than we are and still find our way back to shore. We can be delicate and strong at the same time. And perhaps after everything we have been through, we can still bring joy to the hands—and hearts—that are lucky enough to find us.
So I will keep walking barefoot along the shore. I will let the sand slip between my toes and the waves wash over my feet. I will keep looking down for those tiny white treasures.
And when I find one, I will remember:
The waves may toss us.
The current may carry us somewhere we never planned to go. But there is still beauty in the journey, beauty in surviving, and immense joy waiting to be discovered along the vast, majestic shore.
still becoming,
Juli
