The Gospel in a Sand Dollar

I wasn’t looking for a sermon yesterday morning—just shells.

Beachcombing is healing for me—a gentle gathering, not just of shells, but of thoughts, memories, prayers, and sometimes…truth.

That’s when I saw it.

A sand dollar, half-buried in the wet sand, its edges worn smooth by time and the tide. Not perfect. Not pristine. But still beautiful.

I picked it up, brushing away the grains clinging to its surface. And there it was—that familiar star etched across the top. The sand dollar and the Gospel.

That's how God so often speaks? Not in grand gestures, but in quiet reminders we almost miss.

The star made me think of Bethlehem—the beginning of everything. A promise fulfilled in the most unexpected way. Then the tiny openings, five in all. The wounds of Christ. A story of suffering I’ve come to understand in deeper ways over the years. Pain has a way of doing that—of making the Gospel not just something we believe, but something we cling to.

The sand dollar was no longer just a shell in my hand.

It was a story.

A story of love that came down to earth. A story of sacrifice that changed everything. A story of redemption—mine included.

Later, at home, I turned the sand dollar over in my hands again. Fragile. Breakable. Like all of us, really. And yet, even in its brokenness, there is something hidden inside. If you’ve ever opened one, you know—the tiniest dove-shaped pieces, tucked within.

Five of them.

The presence of the Spirit. The promise that death is not the end of the story.

And isn’t that the Gospel?

Not perfection—but redemption. Not avoiding brokenness—but finding beauty in it. Not an ending—but a beginning.

That sand dollar now sits on my windowsill, where the morning light catches it just right. A simple reminder from the shoreline that God’s story is everywhere, woven into creation, whispered through the waves, and sometimes…left right at our feet.

All we have to do is notice.

And maybe, just maybe, pick it up and hold it close.

Wishing you all a Blessed Easter! Connie

P.S. This is the first Easter without my dear, sweet Mom who passed into the presence of our Lord and Savior on March 18, 2026. She was my best friend, confidant, and spiritual guide who first shared the Gospel with me at the tender age of five. Her wisdom and grace live on in my heart. I dedicate this post to her today, Reta Fay Rowley, Mom, Grandmother, Great-Grandmother, and faithful friend. I love you, Mom!

#Easter2026 #GoodFriday #Gospel