sounds of home

This is the helmet conch, dad explained.

To a 5 yr. old, a glassy coated shell from the ocean is treasure beyond belief. I would carry it next to my ear, listening to the sound of the ocean. I asked my dad how it kept the sound inside. He told me that when a conch is taken from the water, it dies, and it will forever holds the sound of the sea…the sound of its home.

I think this is much like each of us, our hearts carry the sound of where we belong. It may be why we believe in destiny or fate, why
I love the idea of carrying who you are deep inside of you.

For years after my dad left, I would often take the shell and lay listening to its sound. Wishing the ocean would wrap me up, wishing my father would wrap me up.

Today, Thanksgiving day, I am missing the sound of the ocean and the sound of my father. There are no oceans and no shells anywhere around.

I went up stairs to be away from the busyness and in the closet I found a box with my name, Christmas presents from last year (can you believe my life is so busy I fail to open presents, it is true) but my mom had said she had bought some things for my house one day, and since I am no where near having a house, I left them wrapped.

Is God so purposeful that today I would opened the first present a year later, and my tears brim….I was looking at a carved wooden angel with long brown hair, and she was holding a beautiful conch shell up to her ear.

Who are You, God?