Crab Treasures and Learning to Let Go
Rachel Jordan
6 min read ⭑
The hermit crab was carrying a pen. Holding it tight between pincers, he was dragging one end through sand, making quite slow time back to his nest of shells and sea grape leaves under the bushes. Hermits are thrifty collectors, and with every intentional step, it was clear that this resourceful little scavenger was proud of his amazing find.
I bent over the hermit. My shadow startled him, and he dropped the pen with a tiny thud and rapidly withdrew into his shell, concealed from sight. Without moving, I waited and watched. After a long moment, the hermit emerged, his antennae-like eyeballs scoping the sand for further signs of danger before landing on me, then his prize. He grasped the pen again and continued scooting his way along, faster than before, as if he feared theft over physical peril.
I watched his progress, debating with myself. One man’s trash is a hermit crab’s treasure, and clearly, the hermit desired to keep his newfound pen. He was working so hard to have it for his very own! But I knew the pen was trash that polluted the beach. While I didn’t want to upset my new little friend, I also had noticed that the pen had been banged up quite a bit and, still being full of ink, had the potential to leak or explode. I pictured the hermit arriving home among the shells and leaves, joyously putting the prized pen on display among his most coveted possessions. I pictured a future night in which, spontaneously, the pen would seep toxic black ink, darkening sand, tainting the nest and potentially hurting the hermit. I could imagine the bewildered crab trying to recover and escape. No, it wasn’t worth any risk. The hermit might not know it, but the pen was potentially a danger.
I leaned over the hermit again, hoping he would drop the pen as before. But my close proximity only caused him to quicken his pace. “That isn’t good for you,” I explained. “It may seem nice now, but it will only cause you problems, so I’m going to take it away.” I reached out with my hand.
The hermit was now scurrying faster over miniature sand hills than I had thought possible, with the incredible burden of the pen bending his pincer arm back in an impossible angle. He was trying to outrun me. Easily, I grabbed the opposite end of the pen with two fingers, gently beginning to pull it from his grasp. The hermit turned around, dug his spindly little legs into sand, grasped with both pincers, and engaged in what he perceived was the mightiest stand of tugofwar. I chuckled while feeling pity for the little critter, so protective of this trash. After a brief moment of struggle, he began to slide through the sand in the pen’s wake as I pulled. He would not let go; this would not do.
Reaching out my free hand, I tapped the back of his shell. Immediately, he let go of the pen and withdrew. Then, realizing he’d been duped, he rapidly emerged from his shell to stare at me with glazed eyes, utterly dismayed.
“I’m sorry, hermit. It’s not good for you.” He stood frozen by confusion and dejection, then slowly, turned and crept back to his nest.
The pen sat untouched on my desk for several weeks, grimy with salt and sand. The more I looked at it, the more I realized that so very often, I am like that hermit crab. I fight to keep things that aren’t good for me. I have a tendency to place value on things that are worthless. I frequently hold on to cumbersome things I do not need to carry.
“He offers to catch and carry our burden, if only we will give it up.”
As with hermit crabs, it is normal for us to be grabby, snatching at things we want. “I want to be a marine biologist. I want to go to this school. I want a boat. . . .” Dreams for the future start with what we desire now, and it’s not a bad thing to chase after them, so long as they are in line with God’s Word and will. However, problems arise when we want the dream more than God; when we grab while disregarding what he says is for our best.
We have permission to plan but are counseled to do so with God at the heart of our decisionmaking. While our participation, perseverance and hard work may be required, it is he, not us, who determines whether plans come to fruition.
Like a pen for a hermit crab or forbidden fruit for Adam and Eve, God’s creatures sometimes desire things that he knows will cause problems. Indeed, we have free will to choose for ourselves. But sometimes when we refuse to let go of a problematic desire or dream, God might choose to take it away. Pens will do no good for hermit crabs. Dreams unaligned with God’s perfect will do no good for us. If we trust him, relinquishing the grip on our plans will come more naturally. If we believe he is who he says, the loss of any dream will lead us nearer to his heart.
The hermit crab’s pen also reminds me of our burdens. The way that little hermit chose to drag a pen five times his own length and heavier than his weight is not an image I will soon forget. We, too, have the habit of hauling cumbersome things we were not intended to carry (or at least not carry for long). These burdens come in all sorts of colors, shapes and sizes, often custommade to the person dragging them along behind.
Some common “pens” we carry include anxiety, anger and bitterness. These are things God longs to take from us. If we are anxious, he tells us to cast all our cares on him because he cares for us. He offers to catch and carry our burden, if only we will give it up. If we are angry, he reminds us of his own character — that he is “merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness” (Psalm 86:15, RSV). He enlightens our darkness, arming us with strength and making our way perfect, setting us on high places and teaching our hands how to fight in a way that honors him. If we are bitter, he warns us of its toxicity, which will only spring up and cause trouble, defiling all it touches. He enables us to put all bitterness and anger away from us. Like hermit crabs carrying dangerous and unnecessary loads all the way home, we need to release our burdens to the only one who is equipped to carry them.
Rachel Jordan is a marine biologist and lay theologian. She was raised in Idaho and has since traveled the globe chasing her passion for faith and science. In addition to working as a coral biologist for the US National Park, Rachel has worked in marine aquaculture research, organic chemistry laboratories, veterinary research facilities, the pet industry, and a museum. Her most recent book is If the Ocean Has a Soul. You can also find her on Instagram @shorelinesoul or at rachelgjordan.com.
Adapted from “If the Ocean Has a Soul: A Marine Biologist’s Pursuit of Truth through Deep Waters of Faith and Science” by Rachel Jordan. Copyright © 2025. Used with Permision of Tyndale House Publishers.
