I have a special place in my heart for rocks. I always have. I like their strength. I like the history they hold — from marbled veins to embedded fossils and hidden crystals. They have a story to tell. A story about where they have been and what they have seen. From common grey to the brilliant colors only Mother Earth can create…I like their variation.
There is something majestic and awe inspiring about the razor cliffs left behind by sudden and jolting movements of the earth sending jagged boulders crashing below. It is a reminder that no matter how strong and impervious they may seem – flaws can become fault lines. Event the gentle flow of a spring rain will find its way into the smallest crack and lie in wait. Waiting for the freeze to make it rigid and cold – leaving only shattered parts and rough edges.
But I am drawn to the smooth ones. The stones that have not been made sharp or jagged by the elements – but rather have found a way to smooth and shape with grace.
Since I was a child wandering in the woods and along the beach, I have looked for the greatest treasure of all – the heart shaped rock. I have mantels and bookshelves full of them. They have always been my little sign from the Universe – as if to say:
“I have seen wind, rain, cold and heat. I have been tossed about by the waves and thrown from the cliffs…yet I did not break into rough chards and pointed edges. Instead I let those hardships polish me. Smooth me out. Shape me into something lovely to hold in your hand.”
We have all known people like that. History is filled with them. People who face hardships beyond our greatest fears – yet they come out on the other end emanating nothing but love. They are solid and strong, but their curves are graceful and their edges are smooth.
I think about that a lot.
Am I rigid and breakable or able to weather the storms? Am I jagged and sharp or a smooth and soothing? Will my flaws become fault lines or marbling that tells my life story?
As with most things, the answers vary with life’s circumstances – and like the rocks age plays a part. The longer I survive, with every freeze the cracks become larger and the softer my edges become.
And so it is…a lesson for all of us.
By Stephanie Anne Koehler
