Have you ever been stopped in your tacks by the catching beauty of something as simple as a rock? A rock, what’s beautiful about a rock? They’re annoying things. They get stuck in your tires creating a nerve-wracking “click, clack, click, clack” as you drive down the road. They shoot angrily out of the side of your lawnmower. They persistently keep you from getting a good night’s sleep on a camping trip. What’s so great about a rock? Well, they’re amazing pieces of creation.
I haven’t always been so tuned into the geological side of beauty but I had an arresting moment a few months back with a cool crisp morning and a pile of rocks, or stones, if you prefer the more decorative term. It was a Sunday morning and our family was trying to get ready for church but it was not a sweet morning. It was a morning fraught with tension, anxiety, and grumpled tempers. Mainly on my part! I needed to step out, get away and take a breath.
I had recently purchased a bag of “natural stones” for an aquarium but I had wanted to sort through them to take out the ones that weren’t part of the right color scheme. I hadn’t had time yet. I needed to do it this morning! More reasonably, I needed an excuse to be sitting outside clearing my mind; I guess I thought it would be better sitting outside sorting through a large pile of rocks rather than just sitting outside on an early Sunday morning! So there I sat, staring at a pile of rocks I had poured out in front of me. And I was stunned.
As I began sorting through them the depth and variation of colors mesmerized me. How many shades of reds, browns, yellows, and whites appeared in one pile of simple polished stones? More than I could even begin to categorize. And the patterns: striations, swirls, large and small. The textures, smooth and rough, perfect and chipped, each one different but a perfectly matched group!
I became quiet inside as I looked at the beauty in front of me. Beauty, in a pile of something that has virtually no value to our world, something meant to sit in the bottom of a fish tank. Just a pile of rocks, how many of us have thrown out such things to make way for true beauty like a rose bed or a garden of flowers when, here, something formed in the dirt could look so perfectly serene and lovely in the morning light.
I ran my hand over the pile feeling them roll under my fingers. I raised a handful of them to my face and pressed them to my cheek. They had absorbed the coolness of the morning and it virtually sparkled against my skin. It felt like a balm; soothing, comforting, quieting the angst I had formed inside. I took a breath and turned to look behind me. Two small faces stared back at me from the windows by the front door. I smiled. They smiled back. The fragrance of the day started to surround me, the grass, the dew, the slight fog. I put the rocks back in their bag and went inside to get ready to go, it was a beautiful morning.
I haven’t always been so tuned into the geological side of beauty but I had an arresting moment a few months back with a cool crisp morning and a pile of rocks, or stones, if you prefer the more decorative term. It was a Sunday morning and our family was trying to get ready for church but it was not a sweet morning. It was a morning fraught with tension, anxiety, and grumpled tempers. Mainly on my part! I needed to step out, get away and take a breath.
I had recently purchased a bag of “natural stones” for an aquarium but I had wanted to sort through them to take out the ones that weren’t part of the right color scheme. I hadn’t had time yet. I needed to do it this morning! More reasonably, I needed an excuse to be sitting outside clearing my mind; I guess I thought it would be better sitting outside sorting through a large pile of rocks rather than just sitting outside on an early Sunday morning! So there I sat, staring at a pile of rocks I had poured out in front of me. And I was stunned.
As I began sorting through them the depth and variation of colors mesmerized me. How many shades of reds, browns, yellows, and whites appeared in one pile of simple polished stones? More than I could even begin to categorize. And the patterns: striations, swirls, large and small. The textures, smooth and rough, perfect and chipped, each one different but a perfectly matched group!
I became quiet inside as I looked at the beauty in front of me. Beauty, in a pile of something that has virtually no value to our world, something meant to sit in the bottom of a fish tank. Just a pile of rocks, how many of us have thrown out such things to make way for true beauty like a rose bed or a garden of flowers when, here, something formed in the dirt could look so perfectly serene and lovely in the morning light.
I ran my hand over the pile feeling them roll under my fingers. I raised a handful of them to my face and pressed them to my cheek. They had absorbed the coolness of the morning and it virtually sparkled against my skin. It felt like a balm; soothing, comforting, quieting the angst I had formed inside. I took a breath and turned to look behind me. Two small faces stared back at me from the windows by the front door. I smiled. They smiled back. The fragrance of the day started to surround me, the grass, the dew, the slight fog. I put the rocks back in their bag and went inside to get ready to go, it was a beautiful morning.
