The vulnerable, formless snail hunkers down inside his brown-striped shell and pulls the bony door even tighter. Upheaval threatens on every side as frothy, brown waves churn the shallows. They disorient the snail, flipping him underwater in dizzy circles before thrashing him against the seawall and dragging him over a bed of rocks in an ongoing cycle.
“Be still and know that I am God.”
The snail realizes he must not try for footing but rather ride out the storm - and wait.
However, he can’t help but be what he is: a simple creature lacking understanding. He becomes annoyed with irritating bits of sand that work their way inside his shell, confused by the turbulence, and hungry for both food and some sense of normalcy.
“Be still. Know.”
Time seems to stand still when a portion of his shell finally cracks and splinters into the foam. Torrents flood his shelter.
Must he shrink further into himself to discover his purpose here in this mess? No, hope requires both his destiny and influence to be defined by a Bigger Dimension.
* * * * *
Today I found a blackened shell, empty and scarred by some unwarranted catastrophe. I rubbed it between my palms to help it shed rotten slime, and symmetrical brown stripes emerged to share a message I needed to hear.