Churros

As I walked the beach here in Costa Rica, I was reminded of my love for seashells. I remembered the times that my mom and I would spend hours walking the beach in search of some specific shell types that we claimed to be our favorites. We called them olive shells and twisties. Every year we would come home with an abundance of shells to clean up, throw into an old Walmart bag, and add to the collection on our garage shelf. On rare occasion we would remember to purchase a vase to display them in and on an even more rare occasion the shells would actually end up in that vase on display somewhere other than our garage.

This year I was able to meet my mom and stepdad at the beach for the better portion of a week. Having been to the beach with my mom and I multiple times, my stepdad knew exactly what kind of a shell searching quest he could quickly find himself in the middle of, but better yet, he fully understood the direct correlation between our long searches and the number of shells he would be hauling home. He decided to set some ground rules on the first day. We agreed that we would select one shell to represent each day that we spent on the beach. At the end of the week we would have seven shells to take home in memory of this family vacation. We all decided that it was a great plan! Less shell searching, more time together, less shells to take home and display on the garage shelf.

The beach is one of those places where I wake up early, full of energy, and conveniently right on time for the sunrise without the help of an alarm. I usually take this time to get a run in on the beach and simultaneously have some one-on-one time with God. In addition to the seashells, I also love the beach because it’s so easy to be aware of Gods presence there. The peacefulness in the rolling waves, the refreshing breeze in the air, the breathtaking sunrises and colorful sunsets. It’s difficult to not see God. Leading up to the trip, I had been praying that God would simply reveal himself to me in that week of disconnection, knowing that I would have the time to be still.

As I took off on my first run of the week, I continued in stride of this same prayer. The beat of my worship music took control of my steps and my mind began to drift until I caught a quick glimpse of a shell. I stopped dead in my tracks and reached down to pick it up, fully expecting to find it covered with battle wounds from the ocean. I rinsed it off, only to realize that it was without a scratch. In fact, in my eyes, it was nearly perfect. It was black in color with some streaks of white, it was fairly large for this beach, shiny, and it was whole. It wasn’t even 8 a.m. and I had surely found the family shell for the day!

I imagined what my show and tell would be like over breakfast, as I continued on my run. I pictured the look on my parents’ faces when I showed them this blemish-free shell and announced that we wouldn’t even need to look for a shell today. I even selfishly thought about it as my reward for waking up early and beating them to the beach, not to mention getting the workout in on vacation. Eventually, I got back in tune with my music and my mind drifted from this scenario of my imagination.

Reason number three why I love the beach: I enjoy the hello behind a simple smile that so many people share in this happy place. Typically when I run I just whisper a little “good morning” with a smile and continue on my way. This morning was no different as I passed by the other early birds on the beach, most of whom were fishing or walking hand-in-hand with their loved one. I made it about ten steps past my normal encounter with a middle-aged woman that was collecting shells when I got that gut feeling that I now know of as God. All of the thoughts bouncing around in my brain, suddenly turned to one thing. “Give her your shell”. Absolutely not!

I was quick to begin justifying every reason to not turn around and give this lady my shell. For starters, I had to turn around. How embarrassing is that. And what was I supposed to say? “Umm, hi. I found this really nice shell and I want to keep it to show my family because we are only keeping one shell per day, but you can have it.” At this point I was far beyond turning around. I told myself that I’d at least take the shell back to our house, show my family, and then gift it to the two little boys that were living next door. At least that way my family could see it and I would still be giving the shell away like I was apparently supposed to do. We could even give it to the boys together. It would be a great experience for us as a family. Crisis averted. Problem solved.

I continued on my run.

My parents and I had chosen a new beach to visit this year, and guess what, it was an island. I had to turn around when I got to the end. Of course I decided to make this a day for a long run, so I ran all the way to the end of the beach and I took my time exploring a little bit when I reached that point. Eventually, I turned around and headed back towards the house. I had certainly taken enough time that the lady would be long gone. Besides, I was going to give my shell to those little boys.

Sure enough, there she was. Still searching for shells not far from our first encounter. I smiled as I passed by her and continued on my way. The feeling became stronger than ever, “give her your shell”. I continued running. I continued justifying. Now I’d have to turn around after passing her twice – that’s more embarrassing than turning around the first time. She clearly enjoyed searching for shells if she’d been out there that long and she most likely had already found ten shells as pretty and perfect as mine. Now I was definitely too far away to turn around. “Give her your shell”. I slowed to a walk, turned around, and began jogging back towards her.

As I walked towards her I came across another beautiful shell. It wasn’t quite as perfect as my first shell, but it was pretty and instead of black, it was white with pink on it. Perfect! I could give her this new shell and keep the other shell for my family. God had rewarded me for listening. I was obedient in turning around to give her my shell, and He provided a way for me to keep my original treasure.

I planned out the conversation in my head as I walked over to offer her my shell. I began by asking if she had had any luck in finding shells that morning. As we talked for the next ten minutes or so, I was able to get to know her a little bit. We talked about her work, where she was from, and her family. I was able to share a little about myself, including my recent trip to Costa Rica on my first mission trip and some of the work God was doing in my life. I also inquired about her shells. She had been collecting shells from this beach for seventeen years. Each year she would collect a few more to add to a jar on her dining room table. Near the end of our conversation I showed her the shells I had found. She responded with the most energy I had seen out of her in the entire interaction. She assured me that it’s hard to find shells like the ones I had and that they were so beautiful! Just another reason for me to keep them for myself. There it was again, “Give her both of the shells.” I offered her both shells, which she gratefully accepted, and wished her a great rest of the day.

I ran back to the house with two empty hands and a heart that was overflowing with happiness. Those two shells stimulated much more joy in that encounter than they could’ve ever done over a show and tell with my family or on our garage shelf. As I pondered on what had just happened, I realized a piece of what God was showing me. If I wasn’t willing to give up this thing that I had just found, how was I going to freely give the gifts that God has given me to offer? How had I become so attached to such a small thing in such a short amount of time? So attached that I almost missed an encounter set up by God. An encounter to extend His love and model His selflessness. Was I truly seeing everything I have as His? Was this mental grasp of possessions setting limits on how God could use me?

Just days after sharing this story with my team here in Costa Rica, I was given a clear picture of God’s selflessness. My team and I spent a few days working on a some projects in a village near the Nicaraguan border. One of these projects involved building a church. Specifically, we were moving dirt and pouring cement during our time there. Many of the villagers come to help when they see a team come in for a new phase of the building. At the end of our time there, the men and the boys that helped got paid for their work. Before our team loaded into the van to leave, two of the younger boys I had been playing soccer with in our free time each day ran up and each gave me a bag of Churros. I tried to express my thanks as best as I could through my Spanish and a hug. It wasn’t until I stepped away that I had fully realized what had happened. These two boys had just gotten paid for their help. Within minutes, they had run to the store, bought Churros, and ran back just to give them to me. A complete act of selflessness. The same little boy that had told me he only owned one pair of shoes, flip flops at that, had just used the only money he had to buy me a bag of Churros. Wow.

Someone asked me what that felt like. What it felt like for these kids, younger than ten years old, to speak love in that way. How amazing that giving their last penny for a near stranger outweighed having that money in their pocket. Even on my best day, I don’t think that there are words to put on an experience like that. It’s humbling. Beyond that, I can’t begin to describe that feeling.

What would this world look like if we gave everything, truly gave everything, for the glory of God? What an extension of love. What an act of selflessness.