Stones

It’s a journey. You, me and our life in between. Choosing paths and collecting stones. 20 years ago, we were two frightened kids. A baby on the way, determined to right our wrongs. Making lifelong promises to each other, secretly fearing we might not keep them. Here we picked up the stone of uncertainty. I took it from your hand and dropped it into my pocket.

We stepped into a world of demands greater than our abilities. A father, a mother, a husband, a wife. The days were long and filled with studies. Low paying jobs kept food on the table for our new family. The nights were short with homework, bottles, diapers and too few hours of sleep. We would wake early to start our day, sometimes finding tiny handprints covering an important project with no time to start it over again. Here we picked up the stone of weariness. You took it from my hand and set it on the window sill.

We would not be a statistic. We were on the right path. Strong will propelled us both through college with certainty of great success. We would graduate, buy a home, talk about adding to our family, lose a pregnancy, birth another child, change jobs and continue to move up the corporate ladder. We were reaching for the dream. We could not fail. We were fulfilling promises we once made to each other as frightened kids one August afternoon. Here we picked up the stone of foundation, admiring the smoothness of the surface and ignoring the tiny cracks on the underside. I took it from your hand and placed it on the doorstep.

We arrived at our destination. Years of following the rules and guidance of our parents and mentors brought us to this place. A place we called good. A place we called responsible. A place we called solid. We built walls around this place, keeping neighbors and intruders away. We could not show them what was inside. We could not let them see we were filling this place with stones.

Living among the piles of stones became dangerous – sometimes we would slip and bang a knee or cut a lip. So we bought a bag and started filling it with our stones. The one named hatred, another called jealousy, a handful of bitterness and a large, disfigured one labeled grief. I decided to toss in uncertainty and weariness, too. Together we moved the stone foundation from the doorstep to the bag, noticing the cracks had gotten larger and pieces were starting to break off.

We collected so many stones, you and I. Shutting the door to the outside, we would lift up our bag and feel its heaviness. It had grown in size and was slipping from my grip. You tried to carry the weight yourself, but the bag was awkward and just too heavy. When I tried to help again, I realized I did not have the strength. And so the bag fell to the floor, the stones we collected scattering and crumbling to dust. We did not mean to drop the bag, but we also did not mean to fill it so full of heavy stones.

It’s a journey. You, me and our life in between. We now choose separate paths and collect different stones. Today I picked up the one called joy and dropped it in my pocket. I look along my windowsill and see blessing, laughter and a handful called friendship. But the lightest one, the one without any cracks, I call faith.