Even Rocks

Rob Jirucha Photo

Our son, Parker, was baptized in the morning, and we had an open house at an old school-house just down the road from us. The property is a historic spot, an old homestead. About 100 people celebrated with us on this beautiful blue-sky day. Food and fellowship were shared in the school house and the surrounding grounds. Many took hikes to the nearby Gowlland Tod provincial park and enjoyed the views of the Malahat and the peninsula. Everyone had a great time and commented that they would love to come together again.

There was one slight glitch...er, injury during the day. While many ate and talked outside, two young boys enjoyed the simple, childhood pleasure of throwing rocks. Living and breathing targets were chosen. Maybe they were bored and found this as a suitable hobby to pass the time. A rock connected with one boy's forehead and their game ended at this point. Even if they wanted to continue, the referees...I mean, parents...stopped the play.

There was no concussion, and though the blood flowed, no stitches were needed. I called his mom later at night, and all was well. It was more of a scare than a permanent scar.

This got me thinking about my encounters with rocks. I wasn't quite so lucky when I was his age. I'm not sure what I was thinking, but summer boredom took over my occasionally rational mind. I was longing for winter and snow. Particularly, I was hungry for a snowball fight. This is pretty hard to do in July. Ah, rocks, they would be a fine substitute. I convinced a few of my friends to have an organized, team effort rock fight. "You guys hide behind that huge boulder. That will be your defensive fort. We'll take this boulder and section of the woods for our side." I'm not sure if there was an objective. Who would be the winner in this sort of game? Do you stop once someone is hurt? How are points scored? There was no plan other than hide and throw rocks toward the other team.

If you have ever seen those tragic and scary moments in movies where the action is slowed, it really does happen that way. The rock game, having just begun, ended on the first throw. Just as I got behind my rock-outcrop fortress, a baseball-size piece of granite was moving through the sky. As I looked up to make ready my first throw, someone's soaring summer snowball made its move toward my forehead. A quick-witted person would have dodged to the side. Yet, I stood transfixed like a deer in headlights. We're not sure why they stand dazed, are we?

Nine stitches, if memory serves me. There is still a very visible scar on my forehead. It's the one off to the side, not the one in the center. That one is from pretending to be a ghost when I was three. With a sheet over my head, I ran into a wall. Also nine stitches. That's another story.

My behind has slid down long stretches of pavement on numerous occasions. I've accidentally dangled off a merry-go-round, had a leg caught, and been dragged over the surrounding gravel. Countless bruises, abrasions, and wounds have come from rocks in one form or another.

I've often thought of rocks as eternal, unchanging, and unalterable except by heavy machinery. Yet, solid as they are, even rocks break down, develop their own deteriorating scars. Wind, rain, and the growth of various plants in the cracks of rocks all contribute to an unseen, gradual process of decomposition. Like the picture above, you catch a glimpse of it where moss and lichen grow. Pieces of a once solid wall begin to crack and crumble here and there.

My body will continue to be injured over the years from rocks, various objects, projectiles and time. It will go on like this until some final day when my life passes into the next one. Solid rocks are going through the same process, only without the "passes from this life to the next" part. How much more will all the things I invest in, hope in, work toward and create also fade away? I wonder how my time is being spent. Is it with something that will last or is it a fleeting object that will crack and crumble in time?

These thoughts are what help me as a parent, husband, and youth pastor. For all I love to do - the hobbies and interests - they are short-lived. The temporary side of me wants to put all things before the lives of those closest to me. Yet, the investment in a life is something that will really last, I believe. There is an eternal side in me that knows this. It keeps breaking through the dim light of my brain. Over and over, it beckons me to return to things more solid than the rocks around us. Family, friends, those in need, and the One in whom I have faith.

you gotta leave it behind, leave it behind

all that you fashion, all that you make

all that you build and all that you break

all that you measure, all that you deal

all you count on two fingers and all that you steal

leave it behind, you gotta leave it behind, leave it behind

alleluia, allelu - u - u - ia, alleluia, allelu - u - u - ia

U2, words live from Slane Castle