The Other Side of the Stone

Life can feel like stone.

Circumstances can feel unchangeable. No matter how we long for things to be different, sometimes they refuse. In our attempts to stand firm against these stones, life can break us down and erode us over time like the Great Lakes shoreline.

But maybe the very thing that breaks us down also redefines us – just like the shoreline – restating our beauty, our resilience, and our adaptability.

Stones aren’t meant to be changed by moments. Men are.

And that is just what I was reminded of in response to my last post, Impossible Stones. Rocks, though hard, are also beautiful, useful, and trustworthy:

• Sometimes you have to hit “rock bottom” before you’re ready to become the person you are intended to be;
• Rocks are beautiful – and beauty is its own gift;
• Rocks make excellent fire pits;
• Rocks that would cause us to stumble may actually cause us to take a leap of faith;
• We use stone to mark graves and remember those we love and have lost;
• In the Old Testament, stone altars were built to worship and call to remembrance how God had proved Himself in various circumstances;
• A stone in a bird bath is a perch for winged-friends;
• Pebbles in the bottom of a planter provide drainage;
• Stones are excellent for landscaping, especially for folks like me who collect sand dunes on their property;
• Stones can sharpen edges by careful, repeated motion;
• In theory, striking rocks against each other can produce sparks for fire (I mean, I learned this way back in Girl Scouts, but I’ll be honest, y’all, it still seems like magic to me – and I assure you, I have never accomplished it);
• Stones can tell us stories about the history of the earth (eg, Petoskey Stones); and finally,
• A “rock” was the underlying name change of my favorite and clearly the most ridiculous disciple (that’s why he’s my favorite).

For me, stones represent hope. There is a certainty, a trustworthiness, about stone.

In one traumatic moment of my life, my pastor encouraged me to lean all my weight upon Jesus – trust him as my rock, let him keep me from the thrashing waves. Go out to Black Rocks*, he said, and just lay yourself down upon them; let them physically show you how Jesus longs to hold you through this. And I did. I left his office and went to Black Rocks. The day was damp and cold. The rocks were slick wet from the lake, and I’ll be honest, part of me hoped I’d slip and plunge both into Superior and my demise. Still, I stepped carefully to the edge and lay flat on the rock, and as the lake spray mingled with my tears, I felt all the weight of my sorrow pressing into those rocks. And I realized – my grief was not too heavy for Jesus. I was not “too much.” I was not “not enough.” He just held me like those rocks and carried the fullness of my crushed spirit. And in a split moment of seeming weightlessness, I closed my eyes and saw myself sprawled upon the vastness of the Black Rocks, surrounded by the crashing waves of a tumultuous lake, covered in freezing wet and tears – like an image of Sarah, painted upon the Black Rocks by God’s own hand. An unchangeable situation had birthed a beautiful piece of art that I like to think he titled, “Holding Sarah’s Sorrow.”

And that is where I first learned of rock painting.

*If you’re ever in the area, Black Rocks** is an incredible stop along the shore of Superior. I’ll gladly take you there myself – it is quite possibly my favorite place to be.

**To be clear, I’m referring to the actual Black Rocks shoreline, not the brewery bearing their name. I’m sure you would be delighted with the brewery, as locals and tourists alike tend to be, and this caveat is in no way implying that you cannot (or should not) visit both if you’re in the area. It is only intended to clarify where I laid myself down and let God take my sorrows upon himself.

From my heart to yours,