My Seashell Finder

My Seashell Finder

Last week, a friend sent a picture from the newspaper showing my six-year-old daughter’s kindergarten class of 2030.

Out of eleven students, three wanted to be veterinarians, three police officers, two teachers, one a firefighter, and one a scientist.

Only one wanted to be a seashell finder. That was my little girl.

We were on the way back from a family vacation when I received the text. I showed the picture to my husband as I sat in the middle seat of his truck.

“That’s a keeper,” he said.

Our daughter’s sure a keeper, too.

When she was a baby and a toddler, I wanted her to be like every other child her age because I was insecure about my abilities as a mom and believed any perceived “failure” would reflect back on me. I charted her milestones and heaped guilt upon myself if she did not reach them. I wanted perfection by societal standards but did not see God had designed my daughter with His perfect plan.

Jesus is so merciful in that He’s taught me about His unconditional love and acceptance of me, His daughter, by teaching me how to unconditionally love my own daughter well.

My firstborn is a dreamer . . . a feeler; an explorer of nature and people; a curious and affectionate soul with more than a little dramatic flair. In short, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Speaking of which: I remember, in fourth grade, sitting at my desk and drawing trees. I drew them the way I saw them: with twisting, warty branches, scaly slabs of bark, and tiny, heart-shaped leaves. But my closest classmate drew her trees with cloud-like boughs and sturdy trunks, and to this day—some twenty-two years later—I remember holding my pencil and making sure my tree’s branches resembled hers.

My teacher was an artist at heart, and he would often draw incredibly intricate mazes on the board while we finished our desk work. One day, he came to my desk and pointed to my drawing, which wasn’t my own work at all. He looked over his square glasses and said, “I liked what you were doing before.”

He wasn’t saying my work was better than my friend’s; he was telling me I could not copy another’s viewpoint and stay true to myself and to the One who created me.

Now, I look over at my beautiful little seashell finder quietly playing with her dolls—each with an expression, each with a voice projected from my daughter’s perfect mind. And you know what? Those baby and toddler milestones are long forgotten. Those worries I had about her growing up to “fit into” our world’s societal standards of perfection are long forgotten, too. My daughter is still incredibly unique, and I pray she always will be, for I now rest in the peace that God created her for a unique purpose, just as He created me for a unique purpose . . . just as He created you.