It didn't happen. Because everyone knows on your birthday you have to stay up until the clock strikes midnight & the holy tide rises, covering you with a brand new number to create meaning & associations under. As a lover of all birthdays, especially birthdays on August 21st, I should never be permitted to stay up to the mark of that turning page. Twitter hated me last night, as I alerted them the time was near. Friends braced the lover of birthdays with the it's almost here!, are you so excited?!, & HAPPY BIRTHDAY!, when the clock struck that sacred hour. Then the gong buzzes through out the house, leaving me to do a little, giddy happy dance, as I shuffle in circles around my kitchen while all others are fast asleep in their beds. By this point, your average six year old would climb in bed & fall asleep, dreaming of the wonderful princess day that lie ahead of your honor. But no sirry, no not this girl. Never a day between six & 23 did that happen. I am the birthday queen. Bet your bottom dollar I tossed & turned from midnight to 2 am, to awaken to 5 am, remembered it's my birthday, & my body, in turn, magically became caffeinated. Slowly poking my head out my bedroom door, I shot a bashful smile into the kitchen where my dad stood. Sliding out & shutting the door behind me to my sleeping, normal sister, I once more shuffled to circle the kitchen, doing the happy dance with my dad.
23.
So here you are, big girl. You made it. You have stepped on some shards of glass along the way that others carelessly left in your path, but you are becoming & your father texts you how proud he is of his girl & he is happy & so you must be okay. & as I think back to the associations I make with different years in my life, I wonder what this year will be summarized by when I am thirty. I wonder what I'll remember about this birthday, hoping it's that lady on the beach.
Because she's the one that matters.
I cannot shake her, the shoved hand into my chest, where my hands clasped that hollow shell. The 'here you go' that she spoke, the Father's voice booming through her own. A shell. A curved, smooth surface. My fingers press against the sandy layers, recently recovered from the oceans morning gifts. Through the breathtaking, I tried to spit words up. Something, anything would be appropriate. & I tried to pull through the wind in my lungs, but all I could offer was a barely audible thank you. A whisper. A heartbeat louder than the words on my tongue. Such a quick, swift notion, her back was to me before I could react with a louder, more appreciative thank you. She didn't respond, though I know she heard me. Head down, she avoided eye contact the whole time she invaded my personal space. A simple, enjoy the beach & a here you go. She spoke as if she found what I was looking for. & she had.
Because I was praying to God.
Just casual talk, conversation without audibly hearing responses. My mind slipped away into all the shells that had parted ways with the sea, forming clusters resting on a bed of matted, wet sand. & here is where I haven't quite figured out why I asked the big question that cued the lady on the beach with the seashell. Telling the story aloud to friends & family, I nearly fill with a childish shame, as my voice can't contact my motives, so words tumble out in mumbles & hesitation & nervousness collects. I blame the foolishness on August 21st, as it's no mystery my birthday has the same results as a full moon. But without further ado, here it goes.
I asked for a seashell. A gift from God. One especially made for me. Maybe I was in search of a reminder. Maybe I was in search of something I could physically cling to through the high tides of 23. Maybe I was in search of a shell to represent the season of my life. All I know is the thought filled my mind of there being one seashell just for me, & I became addicted to the idea of finding it. My pace slowed, falling farther & farther behind the path of my family, becoming side track with all the possibilities of the shell that God could've placed for me. First, I collected the whole ones, you know the kind. Those shells that look all the same, just in different hues of white in a varying range of sizes. I collected multiple, thinking that maybe I am just an average girl with pasty white skin & hair lacking the light of day. Maybe I am one of the ordinary with a special speck of color on a corner or something. As none jumped out at me, I began thinking maybe I am looking at the whole pieces for beauty, but maybe I should be looking at the broken. The accumulated debris. The pieces that don't make sense. I'm sure they have beauty in them. The pile in my fist grew until it took balance & coordination to carry the pieces without dropping them. & I begun to think with settling satisfaction that this is it. I am okay with God wanting a broken shell to be my birthday gift, my take home treasure from his holy hand. This is good. I am thankful. Thank you, Lord, for 23.
& God met me there.
He met me where I was, digging through the broken shards of seashells, hoping he had reserved a sliver for me, scraping through the broken in hopes of an answered prayer. I knew he heard me & I trusted he had an answer. But I was looking in through the leftovers. The debris. But God soothed,
But daughter, you are not broken. You are whole. Healed. Loved. Mine. You are not your mistakes. You are not your past. You are not your scars or your fragility. You are not anorexia & you are not bulimia. You are not a second thought. You are not a guest. I have claimed you for myself. You are my child & you are set apart. You are new & you are not broken. My strong hands hold you together. You are pure. & you are not broken. So why would I give my daughter something broken if she is not? You are more precious than rubies. I have something special for you. Something greater. Something worthwhile. Something beautiful. Something whole.& he told me he loved me & he's proud of me & happy birthday. He said enjoy the beach, & when I asked something from him he gladly responded with a here you go. & I am grateful for another number & for God's availability & for the lady on the beach with the seashell. & I ask don't let me forget this.
& you are looking mighty fine. You are a promised wholeness, a year of fullness. A beautiful beginning. & We will be alright. Although, their may be cracks in the year & the occasional leak, we are not broken. God uses the broken pieces in my life to create something beautiful, but he doesn't leave me shattered. We are fixed. Restored. Healed. Redeemed. & I am 23 & I am whole.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Thank you, Jesus.
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