My house is filled with rocks. Lots of them. They help me remember.
Handfuls of pumice spill from glass containers in the bathroom and from a ceramic pot in light blue made by our oldest. They remind me of our girls’ faces, all wonder, when they picked up the rocks spotted with holes like pancake batter on the griddle and realized they were almost as much air as stone. They help me remember time around the campfire, boating in Lemolo Lake with family.
An “L” shaped rock that nestled among spawning salmon sits on the sill over our kitchen sink. It represents the last name we five share and reminds me of life’s beautiful struggle and the place we hold in each other’s journey upstream.
On our sideboard, an apothecary jar, cream-colored ceramic bowl and cheese dome cradle rocks. Shades of plum, ivory, chocolate, pink, charcoal. They remind me of Wallowa Lake and Whidbey Island and of rest, bounty, friendship.
In the book of Joshua, God’s chosen people pile rocks so they will not forget how God led them across the Jordan River on dry ground when they stepped out in faith. Looking upon the memorial of twelve large stones, they would recall how God in his mighty love and care brought them to the land promised, and they would tell their children of God’s deliverance.
Rocks do help me remember, but there’s something else, too.
From time to time, I will reach into a pocket of my jacket or purse and find a smooth, soft stone. Most often I don’t know if it’s a treasure plucked from a parking strip by one of my girls or a remnant of gardening, but when I hold it, something in me stills and secures. It’s as if these nuggets of earth recall the solid ground under my feet. The One Far Greater. Far Stronger. Unchanging.
The Rock that is higher than I. My God, my Fortress.
Today, I read these words from 1 Peter and my heart settles in that deep place of knowing.
“As you come to him, the living Stone — rejected by men but chosen by God and precious to him — you also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.” (1 Peter 2:4-5)
I’ve read it before, but this time it hits me. He is the LIVING STONE, and we are his living stones.
And I wonder, could it be that the Great Stone is using us to build places of remembrance, places of praise?
Recently, a dear friend of mine lost her father to a fierce and ruthless illness. Her heart torn, and my heart breaking for her, I found myself amazed to see the way she stood firm. Grieved beyond belief, yes, but there was something radiant about the way she stood in the fullness of her knowing. That her daddy dwelled now in the Land he’d longed for. That his suffering had reached its end. That they would all move forward. That God was still good.
Like small fragments of rock that rest next to the big rock from whence they came, my friend resembled her Rock. Steadfast. Beautiful. She was and is a warm living stone, pointing the way to the Living Stone himself. She helps me remember.
Connecting through the power of stories written, spoken and lived
![Sometimes nothing says it quite like the way of a child. Before the rest of the house wakes, I read the account of Easter morning in the Jesus Storybook Bible: "And it seemed to [Mary Magdalene] that morning, as she ran, almost as if the whole world was singing for joy-- the trees, tiny sounds in the grass, the birds...her heart." The tomb is empty. Jesus is alive, and so are we. And it is new. Once again. Yes, it is always new...He is risen indeed!](https://scontent.cdninstagram.com/t51.2885-15/s320x320/e35/17934124_1877271335863004_8139172358331039744_n.jpg "Sometimes nothing says it quite like the way of a child. Before the rest of the house wakes, I read the account of Easter morning in the Jesus Storybook Bible: \"And it seemed to [Mary Magdalene] that morning, as she ran, almost as if the whole world was singing for joy-- the trees, tiny sounds in the grass, the birds...her heart.\" The tomb is empty. Jesus is alive, and so are we. And it is new. Once again. Yes, it is always new...He is risen indeed!")
i love you.
Beautiful! Ebenezer stones. Reminds me also of my favorite hymn, “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing”
Thank you, Rebecca. I so appreciate you dropping by. Yes, the Ebenezer stones! And what a hymn.
I got my love of rocks from your mama and my mama. Ani and I hiked in rock country years ago and filled our arms with booty. We trudged down a mountain in the snow, weighted by the heavy rocks, unable to leave a single precious stone behind.
My mama shared her father’s collections with me. He was a geologist. He gathered rocks all over the country. Now they mingle with my collections in my home. My mama died two years ago this month, the same month she bore me.
I packed a bag today. My clothes are laid out for tomorrow. I journey to commemorate my birth. Now my pant pocket bears a tiny, translucent rock of remembrance.
Thank you for the many reminders. Mostly, that for every journey, there is a rock. Whether that journey is grief or surrender, birth or death, rejection or the fullness of knowing. Or all of them at once. They come, they go. But nudging me from my hip is the reminder that through all these experiences, the shiny rock is right there in my pocket.
Bless this blog.
Carolyn, I am so touched by your memories of rocks and dear ones. Thank you for your words and blessings. So right you are that we have all kinds of moments to mark, and they shape us in ways worth commemorating. May you find great joy in the celebration of your birthday (and maybe pick up a life-celebration rock on the way)!
Also, though it might be too obvious to mention, my mama was key in shaping my deep love of rocks, too. When I was a kid, I thought her gathering practices rather strange, but now the rock legacy lives on — in my girls and me. Such a great lesson in truly seeing the little things and extracting the deeper meaning and joy from them.
Oh, Ashley, was so so sweet reading of your “relationship” with rocks! I’d seen it growing but had the good sense not to push it. : )
On a more serious note, you’ve articulated so well what I’ve felt. Thank you (thank God) for your gifted way of speaking truth. I’m so blessed by it. I Love you! Mama
Thank you, Ashley, for allowing me to begin my journey in reading your blog. I am hooked already :-) I have collected rocks for years, from everywhere we travel, and placed most of them in our two water features. I remember Dale laughing at Rob trying to gather rocks from the Sea of Galilee for my most prized collection! I love and need the reminder that Jesus is my rock. It is truly lovely to get to read your beautiful insights. Hugs, Debbie
Deb, I’m so glad you’ve come! Thank you so much for sharing your story about the rocks from the Sea of Galilee. I love your idea of travel rocks of remembrance joining your water features at home. I may have to borrow that down the road, as the inside of our house continues to fill with rocks. :) Sending love…
Oh, Ashley, it is with great joy to be introduced to your personal heart stories. You bless me with your digging-deep perspective and His truth in action.
Living stones. God is good. God is still good. God will continue to be good.
Amen.
Bless you, friend. I’ve loved reading your blog for so long. Thanks for the encouragement. God is good!
So much. So much to say. I’ve been meaning to call you this week ttalk “blog talk” but I wasn’t anticipating this is what we’d be talking about. I promise to call you in the next few days because commenting here isn’t enough.
Love this!!
Everything that you right about is so true to me. Its like your writing from th4e inside of my soul!
I meant write!
I think we are like tired rocks. I wonder when I won’t be tired anymore…maybe heaven! ;)