I spent a week in paradise, searching a beautiful chain of islands for rest, for answers, inspiration and strength. I hungered for solace but my mind was plagued by busy thoughts. Too exhausted to move and too restless to sit still, I was tired of thinking and yet silence drove my mind into a feral beast that lashed in every direction.
Like a small child to its mother, I turned to the island for comfort but when she reached out to touch me, I turned my cheek. I yearned for her to soothe me, yet I resisted.
All week I combed the beaches, not for shells but for answers. Walking past thousands of perfect specimens, I looked into the vague distance as I fought with my demons and talked to my angels. Asking for guidance, I waited for an answer but my requests were met only by a nagging silence. In the most wonderful company, I felt alone. Alone, I felt tormented.
Tired of walking, I sat at the water’s edge with a fishing pole. The periodic taps of biting fish and the occasional fight of a catch helped to maintain the busy-calm that I was looking for. The views around me were breathtaking and yet my perspective barely extended beyond the minnows nipping at my toes. I was lost in my mind and consumed by my thoughts.
Soon, despite the fishing pole wedged between my side and right arm, my anxious hands found the sand and shells under the waters I sat in. And I found myself collecting miniature shells and lining them up on my bare thighs.
“For the doll house”, I thought. “With these tiny shells, I can make something for the doll house”. And soon, I was in-search for the tiniest of shells, hidden in the sand around me.
Finally, I was searching for something other than answers.
As the storm clouds rolled-in, I scooped up my collection and we headed home.
The next day my mind found itself in the same battle … no energy for busy, no patience for quiet. Again, I combed the beaches empty-handed and again, despite the beauty that surrounded me, my mind was drowning. Sitting along the water’s edge, my fingers once again found the sand beneath me. And then, as my fingers sieved through the powdery white sand, their tips found themselves on the underside of another tiny shell and finally, my angels answered. “Keep searching for tiny treasures”.
“Keep searching for tiny treasures”
Slowly, my mind began to work in a different way and the view ahead of me began to clear. Instead of searching for something I may never find, I rediscovered the tiny treasures of my lifetime.
I remembered my childhood home. Inside those walls, there was plenty of pain and heartache … but on summer nights, in the backyard, there were fireflies! A mason jar, a childhood crush and the sweet green grass that always grew too long made summer evenings there, magical.
I don’t remember most Christmas’s and I can’t recall a single first day of school … but if I close my eyes, I can take myself right back to the sound of crickets and those glowing, flying, tiny treasures.
Looking further back, on the years we lived in the trailer park, I remembered when my Dad brought home “Kool-Aid” for the first time. I sat on the table with my face planted over the plastic pitcher. As he emptied the seemingly empty packet and added the sugar, a mysterious, sweet smoke billowed out and stuck to my lips. Then, as he poured the water, the white powder, like magic, flashed into a brightly-colored drink. He was a magician and that was the best “juice” I’d ever had!
It was from the orange clay that surrounded our white and green aluminum home that we spent hours making the best “cheese pies”. They were sun-baked and carefully crafted by the hands of babes.
One summer, the seventeen-year locust came. There might not have been much work and we might have started to out-grow our tiny home …. but those giant bugs provided endless entertainment. We’d carry our pet turtles outside to the empty baby pools and watch them catch and crunch the unsuspecting insects under the hot sun for hours.
I lived my first six years in that trailer and those are some of my fondest memories. Artificial dyes and sugar, poor soil and pre-historic-looking pests were childhood treasures I’d nearly forgotten.
And then, there was that summer at my grandparents “beach trailer”. My brothers and I ran outside in the evening rain when we saw some toads sitting on the porch. Using a fishing bucket and our bare hands, we chased the bumpy, brown amphibians by porch light. By the end of the night, we were soaked and filthy with mud and we had caught a hundred toads! Past our bedtime, Mom finally called us in and tipping the bucket, we released our tiny, hopping treasures back into the wet, dark night. And we carried the pride of our catch into our dreams.
On a camping trip, I found a large shark tooth along the water’s edge where I was playing. Holding it tight in my hands, away from the other kids who were trying to snatch it from me, I raced across the campground to show my mother. I found her in the cabin, alone, crying, but she stopped when I opened my hands. “What a gift!” she said and she forced a smile. In my jewelry box, I still hide that fossilized tiny treasure.
It’s the extra pickle on your sandwich and two cherries in your milkshake. It’s the smell of fresh-baked cookies. A sunset. The warmth of blankets when they come out of the dryer. It’s a text that says “I love you, that’s all.” It’s a bird’s sweet song. It’s an innocent giggle and a satisfied grin. It’s two tiny hands holding a buttercup, “For you Momma”.
The world is speckled with tiny treasures waiting to be found- little creatures, yummy treats, beautiful sights, wonderful sounds. And every place, no matter how dark it may seem, hides its own secret stash …. if you’re willing to look for them. Past the shadows and under the storm clouds, these treasures will be waiting and the joy they bring you, can carry you.
With the same fervor that you seek such wonders, you must also seek to maintain a focus on them, lest you lose sight of them into the background of life and worry.
This week, I saw a Momma dolphin fishing in the canal with her babe. I saw a manatee feeding in the grass. I saw pelicans dive and an egret swallow it’s dinner. I held an infant shark and chased little lizards. I was surrounded by treasures and yet I couldn’t take them in, because I was distracted.
My ‘life lens’ was out of focus. Instead of looking too far ahead, I had to look around. By focusing solely on ‘tomorrow’s’ problems, I was missing the beauty in ‘today’. And a missed appreciation for the beauty of today is exactly what I’ll mourn when tomorrow finally comes.
As I make my way down the shoreline of life, I know I can’t predict what will lie ahead. While I won’t lose sight of the horizon, my focus is on ‘today’. I can’t change tomorrow and I can’t change fate but I can discover each day’s hidden treasures and allow these small blessings to carry me onto the next.
If I’m lucky, I’ll one day look back at a set of footprints that’s stretched far from view and I’ll see just how far I’ve come. My journey will make me stronger and wiser and more resilient to the changing tides and life’s harsh weather. My body will tell the story of a thousand difficult days, but thanks to my angels, my pockets will be stuffed with lots and lots of tiny treasures.
