I was digging in the sand with an old metal child’s toy. A shiny new, red-handled, plastic shovel just wouldn’t do. I intended to find treasure and wanted nothing less than rare gems.
The first scoop was fine sieved rock that had been beaten down. Once shell homes, they lay waste to unscrupulous waves. The second scoop was nothing more.
As the sun beat down upon my neck, I could not give up. I grabbed the metal shovel, scooped another bucket full, and behold a pearl appeared.
As I sat on the ocean’s edge, the shovel’s rust mixed with the salty tears and orange ran down the castle moat. And in my hand was the world’s irritants made new. A testament to belief and faith that troubles weary you in the search. At the end, fortitude rewards the heart.