Seaglass

"The biblical call to repentance and faith is nothing if not a call to rediscover who we really are, made in God's image, designed to glorify him. But the Bible doesn't just focus on this underlying intrinsic (and quite slippery) sense of self, many of the biblical writers also engage in identity construction; for example Peter in his first epistle takes time to lay out the identity of those he writes to before giving moral instruction hinging on 2:11 'Dear friends, I urge you as aliens and strangers in the world, to abstain from sinful desires, which wage war against your soul.'

For Peter identity is a conscious and deliberate basis for behaviour, and perhaps our Christian faith enables precisely that; open eyes to percieve our real nature and freedom from sin to shape ourselves and our world accordingly." Anna blogs at Something

These irregular ovals with worn corners have sat on my windowsill since my honeymoon, collected in $1 glass containers found in a shop on Orcas Island. Of what value were those hours spent combing beaches for golds, and grays, and blues, and yellows? Green and white seaglass is easy to come by anywhere waves crash and tides flow. But those unique colors...the rare ones, tossed up reluctantly from the sea where they were so seldom cast. Aaron and I, bent at the waist, walking away from each other and silent. Those hours were as golden as the rounded shards we stooped to cherish. Hours of graceful silence, unfettered peace, acquaintance between souls.

Conscious and deliberate. Constructing an identity for a lifetime of oneness. For us, what is important was old, of little monetary value, even of questionable beauty to many. Pieces of glass cast from the sea, worn by the passage of time and the pounding of surf, without even a glisten left to call it's own. These three jars are the similitude of what we envisioned for life.

And here is cancer, and treatments, and separation. I yearn for those early days of hunting seaglass out of Puget Sound, finding agates on the lonely beaches of Lake Superior, or stooping to scoop rocks out of rivers in Vermont. The passage of time is still a source of heartache for me. Yet how much comfort I take from that early identity we wrought in our marriage: for now I am that seaglass, a sharp piece dulled by the tossing of life's waves, and cloudy after the tumult. I don't have the same sparkle I had then, but I am at peace knowing that glimmer was never what caught my beloved's eye. I won't be thrown back into the sea because of my wear.