Just noticing...

One of the things I admire the most about my husband is his seemingly endless well of patience - with me, with our child, with life. As someone who has a patience well that is as deep as the shallowest of puddles, I fully appreciate the value of being with someone who can endure when, so often, I cannot.

At night, when I've had it with the day and the child has had it with the day and the two of us are apt to get on each other's nerves, he is able to negotiate the final hour of her day in a way that I could never. Tonight, she was edging toward wild and he suggested that they 'do shells' before going up to do a tub.

The Hubs is a serious collector of shells. If we are at a beach, he is picking them up and usually bringing a fair number home. We have various containers filled with shells throughout the house (incidentally, my mother also collects shells and I grew up with containers of them in our house, so this was not all that strange to me that he has them too) and the one in the living room is a glass bowl filled with them.

The process of 'doing shells' is to take the bowl down from the bookcase, take the shells out one by one putting them on the coffee table - sometimes remarking on their color, or noticing the shape, or enjoying the tactile experience of touching their ridged edges, or simply just loving the process of taking out and putting back in - something at which all toddlers excel.

This particular container of shells has lots of small scallop-like shells and some others that I can't identify. There are also lots of pieces of shells, scraps of broken up conch shells, pieces of dog whelks and what not.

If it were me, I wouldn't pick up a broken shell, let alone bring it home. But, this, people, is what I love about my husband. He looks at a broken shell and sees the beauty in what is there - ignoring whatever else might be missing. As he pulls those shells out he'll often comment to the Shorty on what parts of it are neat, or how the color changes inside and out.

It is just a truism about him that he can find such beauty and wonder in the most imperfect of situations, beings and things. This, perhaps, is why he is able to love me! The way he views a shell, whether whole or broken, is how he views life. There is always something good and redeeming no matter what is going on or how difficult the situation. He is kind, he is patient, he is compassionate and he can find beauty in the smallest scrap of a shell.