How many of you remember Charlie Brown and the Peanuts gang going out trick-or-treating and when they came back home to show off their loot Charlie reached into his sack and proclaimed, "I got a rock." He wasn't really very happy about it either - - just saying. I'm am SO not Charlie Brown. I used to say boys are easier to raise than girls because you can give a boy a bag of rocks and he'll be happy - - well, I guess for the most part I'm the same way. I love me some rocks. I don't mean diamonds, rubies, sapphires and topaz, I am talking about the average left-on-the-side-of-the-creek-bed stone! Give me a rock and I'm likely to talk to it and ask it questions about who it has seen, what it has heard, where it has been, and how it ended up where I found it. Keep in mind -- all rocks are the same age. They don't make new rocks you know.
I pray with rocks. I say rocks. I pray with a rock. I have prayed with the same rock for over 23 years now. I don't remember EXACTLY when I got the rock, but I know that 23 years ago I had it because I lost it and cried like a baby until I found it. I've moved a few times in the past couple of decades, and misplacing the rock is tantamount to losing a tire on the highway! You just really don't want to see me without the rock being safe and secure on it's little resting spot at the edge of my monitor. I wonder how many other places this particular rock has been sitting at; quietly contemplating life, praising God, moving only through his or her own rocky mind. I won't know until I get to Heaven and ask it - - I don't think he/she/it will be telling me anything of any real substance here on Earth where he/she/it is limited. It is what it is (a rock).
I went to church one day (over 23 years ago in this case) and the sermon was on Luke 19:39-40 where the Pharisees had come up to Jesus and said His disciples needed to be quieted as they were speaking against Caesar and about our Holy Father as well as Jesus' plan of salvation. Jesus spoke back to them in Luke 19:40 saying "I tell you, if they were made silent, even the stones would cry out." I have always taken that to mean I am to worship out loud. I am to praise God with my voice. I am sing. I am to lift His name and His message to every ear willing to hear - - if not, if I don't do that, a rock may do it for me, and you know, that would really really make me feel so very lowly. I would be horrified if I heard a rock praise God when I should have been doing it myself. There was a basket of rocks at the church and the pastor suggested we take one home with us to remember Jesus.
I want to make it perfectly clear to you that the rock is a rock. It is not precious, it is not special, it is not more than or less than what it is, and it is a rock. God uses simple things to bring about greatness. Many rocks together can build a wall. A tiny rock can be the symbol of love when placed in precious metals and exchanged with vows. Rocks are what rocks are, but the one thing I remember from Sunday School as a bitty kid was that all rocks (not concrete) are the same age. Diamonds (they say) are so old and they are under pressure and that's why they are formed the way they are formed. I say hooey! God made all of the rocks at the same time when He created the Earth. My rock, the rock I hold, may have come off of a mountain years ago, but my rock is no older or less older than the rock I just picked up to give to my friend Niki, who wants to try praying with a rock as well.
The rock I picked up for Niki is round, smooth, spotted, gray in color with specks of black and other colors. I think if I got out my geology books I could tell you that her rock is made of Granite and my rock is most probably made of Hematite. According to Wikipedia it has "healing" powers. I'll leave that one up to God. My rock has stripes and is red; it's pretty and I like it. I never named my rock, which is really weird because I named the tree in my front yard, my cars, every animal of course, and even my Guardian Angel, but I've never named my prayer rock -- and now, after holding it for more than 23 years I think it deserves a name. I'll call it Seamus. I love that name. I can remember that. Just like that my rock because masculine -- go figure.
I can be honest and say I've never been a big fan of "precious" stones. I have a great deal of inexpensive rings that may range from $5.00 to $160 in cost, but not one of them is worth dying for, or breaking down in tears if I lost it -- well, OK, not true, there is one ring I would cry over. That being said, if Seamus were to be stolen, lost again, heaved away, or otherwise taken from me I think I would be a basket case for a minute. I don't say that because I worship the rock, no, quite the opposite. I use Seamus to worship - - he knows things. He has heard my prayers. He has kept me focused while I cried for my children to be found when they were kidnapped and missing for 19 days. He was there in my hand when I struggled financially, when I worked, when I traveled the world with my dog, when I wrote my books. He knew about my bankruptcy, my fears, and my grave loses - - friends. He may just be a piece of red Hematite to someone else but he's a good and true friend to me. I wanted Niki to start her new found prayer life with an equally good friend. I'll let her name her own rock -- that will be her honor!
Can you imagine? You're part of a grand mountain one day, some time later there's an explosion, men working, trucks moving, things get shifted around and you find yourself in pieces and now instead of being about 10 feet wide you're broken up into hundreds of pieces, nothing more than say 3 inches wide? One piece of you is later, many many years later, picked up and carried to a kitchen, washed off, bathed in olive oil, scrubbed off, and placed into a box to be presented as a glorious new gift to a beautiful woman who will then for the rest of her life anyway, hold you, and call upon Jesus with you in her hands. Wow.
Our God is an awesome God, He rules from Heaven above, He gives, He takes, He is all. Never ever be quiet about that.
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