Tuesday, February 26
The child grew and became strong, filled with wisdom; and the favor of God was upon him. –Luke 2:40
On our trip down to Florida, as I wrote in yesterday’s devotion, Fran and I talked about hope. Once we got there, I was busy with play–tennis, biking, swimming, taking photos, eating good food. By the middle of the second week, I was ready to revisit the topic. So I pulled out my notebook and reread the sentence I had written in the car: “Resilient hope is open to mystery.” Hmmmm, I thought, time for a walk on the beach instead. I twisted Fran’s father’s arm and we headed out for walk.
Sanibel and Captiva Islands are among the best shelling beaches in Florida. As Reese and I picked up a few of our favorites, I found myself thinking about hope and resilience. Seashells are strong enough to protect the creatures that live in them; they also change as the creatures grow.
Neither Reese nor I knew (or could remember) exactly how that happens, so when we got back to the condo we googled it. We learned that there are three basic ways the shells are adapted to the mollusks that live in them.
Most of the shells we found on our walk were clam-like shells. The shells themselves are formed from minerals (mostly calcium) and protein secreted by the mollusk. As the creature grows, it secretes more calcium and protein and the shell grows, expanding along the outer edge. The shape remains the same; the shell just gets larger.
The clam-like shell offers one metaphor for resilient hope. Sometimes, in order for hope to hold and protect us, it needs to grow with us. Our hope for healing for a loved one may expand into a hope for a healthier society. Our hope for passing a test may yearn to grow into a hope for a sense of competence.
What are the hopes that hold you? How might they grow with you?
May we grow, O God, and may our hopes grow with us. Amen.