Broken Sand Dollars

My air mattress was flat and the chill of the sand penetrated through the tent. Camp was silent in the early dawn. The waves washing up on the beach had a gentle rhythm but I couldn't go back to sleep.  Stealthily I pulled on my jeans and sweatshirt, unzipped the flap and crept out of the tent, leaving my husband sleeping. 

We were pretending to be fine. Putting on a show of being happily married.  It was my fault. I had given up on him. Someone else took his place in my heart, and I wanted out. My husband was so hurt I felt terrible, and I was trying to “make things work”. I knew if I told anyone in the family they would stop loving me because they couldn’t accept my choices.  Adultery is a sin, plan “B” is not an option. So we continued going to church for appearances sake. “God hates divorce” so I was trapped, hating God for the place I was in.

The cold waves bubbled over my bare toes . Pebbles, seaweed and occasional parts of shells were everywhere. Cigarette butts, pop tops and trash littered the sand. I couldn’t find any decent agates and the sand dollars I found were broken. Not one whole one anywhere to be seen. With disgust, I thought “God the least you could do is give me a whole sand dollar”. 

With reluctant feet, I turned back to retrace my steps to camp. If I didn’t get back soon someone might miss me. Stop! There was a whole sand dollar! Another! Unbroken sand dollars were everywhere, perfect ones laying among the broken bits! Right where I already searched. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. A God thing. 

I picked up a few, then ran back to the campsite, got a bucket and filled it up. 

I was still mad at God, but He loved me.