The Gospel in a Sand Dollar
I wasn’t looking for a sermon that morning—just shells. Beachcombing has always been that way for me—a gentle gathering, not just of shells, but of thoughts, memories, 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 tide. Not perfect. Not pristine. But still beautiful. I picked it up carefully, brushing away the grains clinging to its surface. And there it was—that familiar star etched across the top. I had heard the story before. The sand dollar and the Gospel. But that morning, it felt different. Personal. Because isn’t that 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 I noticed the tiny openings, five in all. The symbolism came rushing back: the wounds of Christ. A story of suffering I’ve come to understand in deeper ways over the years. Pain has a ...