Last weekend, my husband took me to Fort Monroe Beach to watch the sunrise.  Once I captured the first light of day painting the horizon in hues of orange and gold, I stowed my phone and turned my gaze down to the sand where forgotten treasures awaited.

Over an hour, we searched for sea glass and found lessons within the smooth, pastel fragments—lessons in patience, beauty, and the unexpected wonders that stir the human spirit.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve collected sea glass, a title given to glass that’s been weathered and smoothed by the ocean’s waves and sand over time.  What began as a bottle with vibrant colors is broken, then discarded into the sea. The natural process of erosion transforms sharp, jagged pieces into frosted, rounded gems.  Eventually, the sea deposits them back onto the shore for me to find if I can.

Some pieces of sea glass are smaller than my fingernail, others larger than my thumb, but if I’m looking down at the sand, even the tiniest shards still reflect the sun’s light. As I walk the shore, ukulele in hand, the glimmer catches my eye. I’ll pause my tune, bow and inspect, and the sun’s light is instrumental in my effectiveness at finding sea glass.

So many weeks spent photographing sunrises at Yorktown Beach, and I only now noticed the way the light seems to follow a path over the water straight to me.  It was, of course, the same at Fort Monroe Beach where the sea glass caught the light as I approached. My stepdaughter’s recent science lessons on the law of reflection apply, I’m sure, but I just found it comforting to realize the sun’s light was pursuing me.

Granted, collecting sea glass is a lesson in patience, but not so much in the act of collecting it.  When I walk up and down the beach at Fort Monroe searching for these treasures, reality pauses.  Time passes, but I’m unaware of it, simply present in a moment that stretches on as long as I walk. Sometimes, I’ll find a few, other times a handful, but always at least one if my foot touched sand somewhere.

Were I to measure my collection based on a single day of treasure hunting, the hobby might seem futile.  It’s a collection best judged over time.  Tony took me to collect sea glass again during a much colder sunset on April 4^th, the anniversary of our engagement, and we committed to find four pieces to match the date despite the chill. Tony found two.  I found one.  He was in shorts and a tank top.  I had a hoodie and leggings.  I sent him to the car while I continued searching for that final, elusive piece of glass.

I was aware of the time, now, because the sun had set.  Without the reflection, I doubted I’d find the fourth piece.  When I’d walked the full length of the shore, I turned right around and played my ukulele while I doubled back over the ground I’d already searched. 

I sang in peace and sensed I was alone. In the dusk around me, I could see no one on the shore before me or behind me.  No one on the boardwalk, not even fort patrol hurrying me home. I reversed the strap on my ukulele, sending her upside down on my back.  That freed my hands to pull out my phone and turn on a flashlight, aiming the beam at the strip of shells and seaweed left behind after high tide.

It was a minute before I caught a glimmer.  I bent down to inspect the item, and suddenly, there was this heavenly sound.  Was music playing from my phone?  No. The wind whipped and the waves crashed, creating a dull roar, but there was definitely music.  I stood.  It stopped. 

I knelt again to pick up the final piece of sea glass, an almost perfect square of polished emerald. There it was again. It was an ethereal hum, like a fairy playing a violin.  I bowed deeper, and the tone shifted. I lifted my head, and it resolved.

My ukulele was playing itself, or more accurately, the wind was playing my ukulele strings.  I knelt there, moving my body slightly up and down, back and forth, making music only the angels could hear.  I remained in that timeless moment. God met me there.  I could not help but weep.

My husband was warm inside our car when I returned and attempted to explain what had happened.  He was skeptical, but he played along and had me break out my ukulele there in the parking lot next to the car.  He couldn’t hear anything at first with a plane passing overhead and the sound of his own engine, but when I dipped low and the wind caught the strings, he was stunned to silence and awe, tears escaping as the angelic tones echoed sweetly between us to be lost in the windstorm. 

Yes, finding sea glass takes time like many things in life that require patience and perseverance, but the shoreline offers new possibilities and discoveries each day. Curiosity and adventure are my companions in the hunt, reminding me joy is often found in the journey, not just the end goal. 

I mean, I was searching for sea glass, not a moment with God, and I’d found two pieces before the sun set, but to each Tony had run his fingers over the edges and said, “That’s not ready yet.  Gotta send it back.” When we find glass that’s still sharp, we toss it back into the sea so its rough parts can be smoothed out. 

Taking a sabbatical from teaching to write my book was an incredible gift.  It was calm and still alone at my desk, day after day.  Returning to the classroom fulltime, well, I feel a bit like those pieces of sea glass Tony throws back into the Chesapeake Bay, being shaped by waves and time.  I believe our most difficult experiences mold us, strengthen us, and polish us. 

And when I am finally deposited on the shore again after this refining season at sea, I will be another rare, imperfect thing of beauty, trash transformed to treasure. The tiny gems I collect have a history, a story that led them to this shore and to me. That tiny square of translucent green got a new story when I picked it up and the angels played my ukulele.

There are bowls of sea glass around our home.  Some pieces I gathered on foreign shores in Spain, Italy, Portugal, and Puerto Rico. Others are from here in Virginia or up in Atlantic City or down in Florida. 

And in the last year and half, my stepdaughter and husband have joined me in my mindful hobby. My collection has become our collection, and our four anniversary gems have joined the rest.  We gifted little jars of sand with tiny fragments of sea glass from Fort Monroe Beach to the handful of attendants at our wedding there last June. 

As I reflect on these moments—on the joy of discovery, the music of the wind, and the shared experience with my family—I am reminded life, much like collecting sea glass, is a journey of transformation. Each piece we’ve found carries with it a story, a memory that links us to the places we’ve explored and the time we’ve spent together.

The sea glass we gather symbolizes not just our adventures but also the lessons we’ve learned in the searching—lessons in patience, wonder, and the beauty of resilience. Every shard is a testament to the idea that even the most broken things can be polished into something beautiful with time and care.

I’ll keep wandering the shores hoping that, like the sea glass, I’ll emerge a little smoother, a little more colorful, and always ready to reflect on the lessons in the treasures on my way.