Ode to a Diver

The stereo begins to play as classic images appear on the screen. First Wally, the Beaver Cleaver waltz down the stairs to kiss their esteemed mother goodbye as the show begins. The audience’s attention draws up to a familiar sight as June bends to give each boy a hug goodbye: a strand of pearls, white and dazzling admist the grayscale landscape. The story goes that Barbara Billingsley wore these pearls to hide a hollow in her neck, hoping the audience would not notice the one imperfection in America’s perfect mother’s armor.

Pearls. The perfect stone in my opinion. From the first time I saw their frothy whiteness, their round allure captured this loyal prisoner. They represented all the good old days to me, the glamour of the Hollywood starlets combined with the sophistication of perfectly manicured women in bedazzled dresses and teased hair. For a while I even wanted a pearl instead of a diamond for an engagement ring, in love with what Jesus once called a rock of great value in his parables. 

These tiny gems are produced of chemicals and pressure with the soft shell of a living mollusk. Although rare perfect ones are found in the wild, many pearls do not all come with the milky white skin we think they own, but are cultured to be ascetically pleasing to the searching siren. They sit, waiting at the bottom of a deep pool, trapped in a hard shell, until some searching soul comes down and rescues them from captivity, selling them to grasping hands and bare necks. Then they sit perched like morning doves upon the body of the lucky soul who has snatched up the prize from its murky beginnings. 

Pearls. Jesus compared the kingdom of Heaven to a pearl on great price in Matthew 13, saying that if a man found one of great value he would sell everything he owned just to buy the one speck of beauty. I would propose making the analogy more personal. 

Would we not say that we once were trapped in a hard shell of rock, birthed in the rocky cave of our own misery? We remained captive to our sinful nature, not allowed to show any feeling or beauty within, suffocated by the pressure exerted upon our souls. 

Yet even in the murkiest of water, Christ left the heights, diving down into the abyss and rescued us from our heavy load. He tore us from our infested home, and cleaned our sordid souls until we too shone as white as light emitting from these precious stones. That diver took the plunge to rescue this one pearl, the one sinner who could not escape the shell she so careful wove. Yet now, after bought with no higher of price, this puny pearl can walk along with its owner through the crowds, finally able to allow the materpiece to shine forth, reflecting the now pure beauty within.

And such was I.