Saltwater Cures

 

© Mandi Watts

I have loved this quote for as long as I've been aware of it. The truth of it is simple yet so profound, and it absolutely holds up in practice in my life. When I feel stressed or overwhelmed or lost, I can often remedy my situation by adding saltwater in one of these forms. Just in the last week, I have employed all of them at various times, and I can feel healing running through my body and mind.

It's interesting, though, because in that cure there is also pain. A workout that produces sweat is not an easy or lightweight one. It requires much of your body, which may feel difficult in the moment and may leave you sore for days afterward. The grief, hurt, and stress that produce tears do not feel like healing in the moment. In fact, I just read a quote in Sarah Pearse's book, The Sanatorium, that sort of sums up how grief works: "Grief is like a series of bombs exploding, one after another. Every hour, a new detonation. Shock after shock after shock." Sometimes we have to cry loads of tears over the same grief before we start to feel some relief. And the sea, while beautiful to look at, will find every tiny cut or scrape on your body--ones you didn't even know you had--and it will burn like fire. But you will continue walking down the beach with your toes in the water because the reward is greater than the pain. In every instance, the pain is real and can be wildly intense. But on the other side of the pain, there is healing. So I will continue seek out these lovely saltwater cures and allow them to do their work in me. 

Beautifully Broken

I took a walk on the beach yesterday. And, as always, as soon as my feet hit the sand, I turned into a treasure hunter, my eyes scanning the sand and coastline searching for interesting creatures or shells or even bizarre bits of trash. I know myself well enough to know I want to collect every shell or bit of coral I come across because they are all so lovely, so I long ago put limits on myself to keep the collection manageable: only fully intact or truly unique treasures that I can carry in my hands or pockets, which will then be further scrutinized and filtered before I pack up my bag to head home. The beach I am visiting at the moment doesn't have many shells, but yesterday there were tons of sand dollars littering the beach...or, more accurately, sand half-dollars. Every one I came across was broken. Ignoring my own beach combing rules, I couldn't help picking them up. As I continued to walk and think and pick up as many severed sand dollars as my hands would hold, I wondered why. Why was I drawn to these broken things that so many other beachgoers had passed up? And then like a bigger-than-expected wave, it hit me: they reminded me of me. They were broken, yes, but still surprisingly beautiful. And because they were broken, I could see the intricacies of the structure inside, which was also beautiful in its own right. The stories of how they came to be on this beach tumbled out in the palm of my hand--tossed by unpredictable yet consistent waves, pecked apart by birds, trampled on or completely ignored by other beachcombers because they were not perfect or whole. The sand dollars' stories reminded me of my own. I would normally have been one to walk on by, but my own beautiful brokenness allowed me to see the beauty in these objects whose very name implies value. As I thought about it more, I realized that even if I were to find a fully intact sand dollar, it would not be perfect. The edges would be jagged, the surface rough. The only perfect sand dollars are the ones that are manufactured and show up in a souvenir shop. It made me think about all the perfectly curated social media pages that aren't real or authentic but are meant to make a life look put together and flawless. Though I have often been tempted to pick up every sand dollar I've come across on the beach, I have never been tempted to buy a manufactured one. Fabricated sand dollars--and lives--are never interesting to me because I am repelled by fake things. I'll take real and authentic over fake every single time. 

There's no doubt I am broken. But I'm no less beautiful, and my story doesn't matter less. If anything, it matters more. It's real and authentic, and it allows me to see the beauty in the other broken ones around me. I never saw one intact sand dollar on the beach yesterday, but I saw scores of beautifully broken ones. Chances are good that if you're a human (or a sand dollar) you are living a broken life. Getting to where you are now has been hard, and lots of people have not or will not see your beauty. But trust me when I tell you that doesn't make you any less stunning. I see the beauty in your brokenness, and I intend to fill my life with people who can see the beauty in mine.