Life is like a shell, shell, as in life.
Yes, just like our mother, after the pain, breeds pearls, brewing the glory of life.
Pick up the pieces of shells on the seashore of cent, have been living inside the small soft flesh is already dead, under the sunshine, sand waves and elutriation, shells of life have left traces have completely disappeared.
Tiny for such a short time, however, the life, to such a weak and humble life, give it made the dwelling place of god but how beautiful is meticulous, more careful, how?
Compared to the shells in the life, we are here in the world can stay longer and a little more time and space?
Also should use our ability to do can do things more meticulous, more careful, more detailed?
Please let me also can leave some spare, amazing things to come.
After one thousand, maybe someone will leave traces of repeated viewing, repeat play, and couldn't help sighing gently: 'this is a heart of how stubborn and how short!
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