my oyster

I was 19 years old when I was given my first copy of Gift from the Sea to read. I took the book home, admired its cute cover and interesting title, and then put it on a shelf where it sat for 4 years. It wasn't until I had my second baby that I picked that book up again. I locked myself in the bathroom to have a bubble bath and read a book. I sat in the tub until my fingers had wrinkled and the water was cold. I did not want to put the book down. It was as if I was reading my thoughts, but in a way that I could never have expressed them. I kept finding myself thinking, "that is exactly how I feel!" This was also the very first day I knew I wanted to write.

10 years later I sit here in front of my computer and I write this blog. 10 years ago I had no idea what a blog was, I hardly even knew how to use a computer. This is not the outlet I had envisioned, and certainly not where I would like my writing to remain, but for now I get to write, and that is what I want to do, forever.

Gift from the Sea still sits upon my bookshelf, but I pick it up more often, and re-read its contents. In particular, the part that spoke straight through to my heart was the chapter entitled "Oyster bed".

"You never find two alike. Each is fitted and formed by its own life and struggle to survive. It is an oyster, with small shells clinging to its humped back. Sprawling and uneven, it has the irregularity of something growing. It looks rather like the house of a big family, pushing out one addition after another to hold its teeming life....It is untidy, spread out in all directions, heavily encrusted with accumulations and, in its living state, firmly embedded on its rock. It suggests the struggle of life itself. The oyster has fought to have that place on the rock to which it clings tenaciously." (Gift from the Sea, by Anne Morrow Lindberg)

I have never looked upon an oyster shell in the same way. As I go through my life, somedays wishing for a fancier shell, not in the way of houses, or clothes, or possessions, but a more accomplished me, I am brought back to the vision of the oyster.

The difference between the life I had pictured and the life I actually live, is in the eye of the beholder. I can see past the crudeness of the oyster's shell, and into the middle. In that oyster, in the mess of family life, in the chaos of many children, in the attempt to cling on to what is most important and let other matters go, a great work is being done. I can view my oyster shell with different eyes, and love its bumps and imperfections. The world may not beholds its beauty, but that is because the work and the beauty is being done in a quiet, simple, day by day way - on the inside. It isn't until much later, when all the hard work is done that the reward is complete. This is my offering, not my shell, but the pearl that has grown safe, deep within. This is my gift.

Dear Juliet,

I feel as if I know you. I feel as though I can relate. I too, think perhaps I am better at writing than living, that maybe I am better behind words than in real life. I have naturally curly brown hair, and know the curse of which you speak.

From the very beginning I wanted you to find someone. Someone you could love and who would love you back with an unending passion. Someone with whom you would grow old and grey and be more in love with at eighty than the day you were married. When you first met Mark Reynolds, my heart hoped for you that this would be the man. He was charming and handsome, and every good thing we imagine our husbands will be. I hoped this would be the prince charming of your story.

I fell in love, right along side you, with all your new friends from Guernsey, and as you got to know them through their letters I feel I did as well. I could imagine their faces, their houses, and their friendships.

You have made me want to write letters, real letters, with paper and pen.

I wish to leave this life, if only in my imagination, and join you in yours.

I long for my own Sophie and Sidney.

The night Mark proposed I wondered why you did not leap with joy and shout out, "Yes!" And then from that moment outside his apartment, when your feelings were uncertain, I wanted you to leave. I wanted you to get on that boat and sail away. And then I knew - from the very first instant you laid eyes on Dawsey, I knew that I could never be satisfied if you did not end up falling madly in love with him, leaving everything you know and spending the rest of your life as Mrs. Dawsey Adams on that isle, in that cottage by the sea.

I want you to love Kit. It is not hard for me to picture her, as she reminds me so very much of my own little brown curly haired, grey eyed girl - inquisistive and thoughtful, and in possession of an iron will. I want you to care for her, for always.

I did not want to know what I now know about Elisabeth. I wished her a safe return home. I wished her to be able to hold her baby and raise her up. I could not help but cry when I read the letter concerning her fate. These people, these events, this is their history. Maybe it wasn't Isola, or Eben, Remy, Eli or John, but whatever their names, these people affected by this war, really lived and died, and endured what we cannot imagine, and for this reason did my heart break. Not only for the fictitious character of Elizabeth, but for all the Elizabeths that really lived this kind of life.

I want to live with the talent and kindness of you, Juliet, the strength and courage of Elisabeth, the spunk and giant heart of Isola, and when I am an old lady, the grace and beauty of Amelia.

Thank you for opening my eyes to a world that was both so ugly and so beautiful. To a world were the human spirit underwent such suffering and yet found comfort and hope and a will to survive in family, friendship, and books.

Sincerely, Shelli McCullough

I am just over half way through and I can barely stand not knowing what comes next, but I am also so very nervous to find out.

This book will make you smile, break your heart and mend it back up again, as the characters become alive in your imagination.

2 weeks

I wish I could have skipped right over yesterday and to today, actually maybe to next week. After you have had people in your home for 2 weeks, people you love having around, it seems awfully empty when they are gone, my home and my heart. It is funny how quickly we got use to them being here. It was the first thing I would remember in the morning when I woke up and the last thing I would think about at night. And although none of us could really live that way forever, apart from each and every one of the children, it is sad to have sent them off.