The Rocks

The rocks.

I went to Auchmithie Beach because, as I watched Martin Fair preach to the West Church from there, I was stunned by the diversity of the pebbles and stones on the beach.

As part of my Artist’s Way, I was to collect five stones this week. I brought back double that.

The smooth pebbles reveal that they’ve been washed, again and again and again, pummelled by a pounding surf when the tide comes in, enveloped in the water as it recedes. The soft water does it, over the days, over the weeks, over the months and years, in and out, in and out, wearing away the rough edges, sanding down the sharp corners.

The pummelling of the wave action flings the stones against each other. Rough edges sanded to silken softness by the bumping against each other. Smoothed by the interaction with each other.

In front of me, large conglomerate boulders squat like tired soldiers. Glued together by accumulated grime, dirt, and organic detritus. They are black; they are dirty; there is nothing to commend them. Yet I know that in a century or so, someone may sit here and admire beautifully smooth pebbles, pebbles pummelled and washed, cleansed and freed from the grime that glues them into the dirty boulders they are today.

I am like these squatting soldiers, my personality plastered together by people, places, events, held tight by the adhesive of familiarity, of responsibility, of duty, of love.

I sit and wait as God washes me clean. He removes the clarted grit which has frozen me rigid into an image of my life’s circumstances rather than a reflection of our beautiful Saviour.

Some of my gunk and grime is so superglued to me that it will take a storm to release me and set me free. Use the storm we’re living in now, Lord: Covid-19, the severe thunderstorms and torrential rain this week, the earthquake in California, my ageing Mom. Shake me. Wash me. I know Covid has totally blindsided me. I never considered things could so universally and drastically change, virtually overnight. Help me to hold your light to this world, full of hope and ready for whatever comes next.

Not all is negative, and the beauty, the love, the laughter, the grace – those become as silken threads winding through me, intrinsic to the person God created me to be.

I am so grateful for all those in my life who have become those silken threads. The external gunk – wash it away, dear Lord! The loss and sorrow; the fear and pain, the anger and unforgiveness. The mean spirit in me which reflects the mean spirit in the world, not the grace of God.

I am created to be an image-bearer. Your image, dear Lord. Your hope. Light. Life. Love. Grace and peace. You’ve anointed me as a peacemaker. Renew that anointing, Father, and use me to bring peace to you and through you into this hurting world.

May Jesus, the hound of heaven, never lose me, leave me, or give up on me. I am hopeless in my own strength, but thanks be to Jesus, I can do all things through him who strengthens me.