He Gives Us Turtles

My feet shifted against the sand as my eyes remained locked on the woman on the ground in front of me. Her right arm plunged back down into the open cavity, and she scooped one more fistful of sand up from its quiet home. The hole had grown quickly, now swallowing her entire limb with each scoop. I anxiously rubbed my youngest’s shoulders, as my heart murmured prayers. “Please, let there be a turtle. The kids would be so excited. God, would you give us a turtle?” 

This trip to this beach in Eastern Florida wasn’t what we planned. We were supposed to be waking up in the mountains of Colorado that morning—getting ready to hike to an alpine lake or prepping ourselves for a train ride through the scenic landscapes. But every plan for that trip smoldered along with our burning van we rushed out of on the side of Interstate 70. 

After the fire, an incredible deal on a hotel pushed us to pack what little clothes we had left and head south to the Florida beaches. We craved time away to heal and play together.  We spent our days combing the sand for shark teeth, building castles, and investigating the roped off sea turtle nests. 

“When do sea turtles hatch?” My son asked in the hotel room one night. Our phone told us it was late August—and that there was a nest excavation scheduled for our beach in a couple days. Once the turtles leave the nest, wildlife volunteers wait three days and then dig up the eggs to count and record how many sea turtles have hatched. Often they discover dead turtles who couldn’t make it out of their shells, and on rare occasions they will discover a live turtle still in the nest. 

“Do you want to go?” We asked our kids. “There might just be egg shells, not even a turtle.” 

“Yes!”  They didn’t need much prodding. 

So we pulled our bodies up with the sun on Monday morning. We tramped across the sand until we found marker 9, hoping it was the right day, the right place, and the right nest. Pretty soon a few volunteers and onlookers circled around, and we all watched as the woman pulled fists of sand out one at a time. 

Now I stood watching, waiting, and praying desperately for a tiny turtle. “Please, would you give us a turtle?” I silently begged, as clumps of leathery egg shells were tossed to the side. “What were the chances we’d get to see an excavation? Will you give us a turtle, too?” Another cluster of egg shells plopped to the ground beside. “Please let there be a turtle.” The next clump of shells fell to the sand, but this one landed with two dark oblong shapes. 

“There are turtles!” We squealed. A volunteer stooped down to snatch the two wiggling animals. Sandwiched between the volunteer’s thumb and fingers, the tiny head peeked at my children. I couldn’t believe it—two live baby sea turtles. My kids crooned with excitement as the little creatures turned circles in the five gallon bucket while the volunteers cleared out the rest of the nest.  My heart could burst. 

A few minutes later we joined in applause as the turtles tottered into the rolling waves.  For the rest of the trip I couldn’t shake the gift we had just been given. The Lord had given us turtles. 

I used to wonder if it was a little selfish to believe that statement. I thought it might be too vain to imagine that the small gifts that come into our lives are the particular planned mercies of God. But when I look in the Word, I don’t find that holds up. God tells us that every good and perfect gift is from his hand (Ja 1:17). He tells us all things on this earth hold together in him (Col 1:17). Our Bibles hold story after story of the God whose providence weaves together every portion of our days- from the sleeplessness of kings to the sun and rain that falls from the sky. 

It’s not selfish to acknowledge the majesty of the God who orders and rules every piece of his creation. It’s merely a humble acknowledgment of our great God whose “presence fills immensity and whose “will conquers all” as the Puritans put it.¹ Of course, this kind of majesty means that God’s works are far greater than our minds can comprehend. While I believe God gave our family those turtles, I don’t think that was all he was doing through those little amphibians. I can only guess at the ways the Lord used that excavation in the lives of the volunteers, the other onlookers, and the host of people on that beach who walked by that nest for the past two months. 

Our minds might work better in one-to-one correlations, but the Lord knows no bounds. As the greatest author, our God writes a story that unites each individual component perfectly. He can work a million outcomes in an instant—using the same rainy day to bring joy, grace, or challenging growth to many at the very same time. 

But his grace in ordering a thousand events at once never detracts from his care for the one. We don’t receive a partial portion of God’s love, for he cannot be divided up. His grace to us in the small things of life isn’t an afterthought, but it remains the purposeful mercy of his Fatherly love. It really is for us, too. 

Three days before that nest excavation, while I attempted to drown out the sound of exploding glass with my tears, my Lord hastened a clutch of turtles out of their warm nest, and he told two to wait for me.  

While I prayed that my three children would grow in faith and not fear from this fire, their tender Shepherd held two little turtles back in order to proclaim to them his steadfast love. 

And two months ago, while my husband and I prepared our van for a trip to the Rockies, our Father guided a mother turtle to the shores of Amelia Island, in order that two of her eggs would be the balm of mercy for a tragedy our family would never have imagined. 

He gave us turtles, and he does the same for you, in so many different ways.