June 4, 2015
Last summer I volunteered to do some storytelling with a group of children. The story was the Prodigal Son. You know, that classic parable where the father welcomes home the son that has blown all his cash on the biblical equivalent of pizza and beer.
I wanted each child to take home a keepsake to remind them of the story, so I spent about two hours inscribing 50 little white shells with a one word message. There was one shell left over after I distributed them. I kept it for a long time. Somehow it spoke to me.
This morning at daybreak, in the mountains of Spain, I left it at the foot of a lonely iron cross, La Cruz de Ferro. I have carried my shell with a message for over 550 km. I hope I always carry it now in my heart.
