Sea Glass

   One of my favorite places is an empty beach, with the orange sky above me and the wind blowing my hair. I love to walk across the sand and search for sea glass.

   A long time ago, my mom told me how sea glass is made. It begins when people leave their empty glass bottles on the beach. The waves crash into the glass on the beach over and over again, beating it against the rocks and tossing the sand against it until the glass is smooth and the sharp edges are soft.

   Sometimes as I search the beach, I find a piece of sea glass that is still sharp. I catch myself trying to think of a new way to describe it, but it is either glass or sea glass; there is no in-between. It's the same with people. There are many different people I see at the beach. Though we are different, we can be separated into two groups: believers and unbelievers, and nothing in- between. None of us can go to God on our own because of our sin. God is so perfect and holy He cannot stand our sin. "The wages of sin is death" (Romans 6:23) and that is why He sent Jesus, His only Son, to die in our place. Jesus is perfect. He never sinned, not in Heaven or on earth. He was the only one who was innocent and could take the blame for us, and He died on the cross as punishment for our sins.

   But Jesus did not stay dead. 1 Corinthians 15:3-4 says, "that Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures, and that He was buried and that He rose again the third day according to the scriptures." He defeated death and rose from the grave. Jesus Christ is the only one who can walk across the ocean that seperates us from God, and through Him we can have a relationship with God the Father.

   To come to Jesus we must be broken, like the glass bottle on the beach. We must cry out to Him. Only then, in humility, will we be able to ask His forgiveness for our sins. Romans 10:9 says, "but if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved."

   When I find a piece of sea glass that is incomplete, I want to keep it and put it in my porcelain box, especially if it is a beautiful green. But in the glossy glass not yet smooth, I can see myself: imperfect and blemished. I set the glass back in the sand, closer to the rocks. I must wait for the time when I cannot see my reflection in the glass before I can take it home. I must wait for the time when people can see Jesus' reflection in me and not my own before I can go to my heavenly home. God still needs to beat my sharp edges against the rocks many more times.