Petoskey Stones and lifePosted: October 14, 2010
One great accomplishment can now be checked off my life’s to-do list…finding a Petoskey Stone! I have been just enthralled with those buggers since moving here…they’re so mysterious, so awesome, so rich with stories…and everyone seems to find them but me! Logan pondered aloud that it would sure be nice if they were everywhere, that you could find them at every beach, in every yard, etc. It sure would kid. But then, I told him, they probably wouldn’t be so sought after, so valued. They would just be…ordinary. You wouldn’t see Petoskey Stone jewelry for hundreds of dollars, and you wouldn’t be shelling out all the money in your pockets at the county fair for a … rock. They’re unique, special, and somewhat elusive. If you’re walking on the beach and not looking carefully, you’ll miss them. Especially if they’ve been washed ashore and dried in the sun. You can’t see the beautiful design unless they’re wet. Some say to take a spray bottle with you on the hunt. I think we should figure a contraption like the one used in “Honey I Shrunk The Kid,” to keep me low to the ground looking (maybe that’s why kids are so good at finding?!). You just have to be observant. And patient. I think fpart of why I like the mystery is because of the beauty, the not “smack in your face gorgeous, blaring beauty,” but the “be patient and look within beauty.” Slow down, enjoy life…look within…and you’ll be amazed at what you see.
I brought out my collection of rocks with a client the other day…a young man, who, upon seeing the rocks groaned aloud. “Seriously Anna, you want me to … what??? I have better things to do than to look at rocks.” All righty then. I shared a few anyway, talked a bit regardless…because this young man, in my opinion, thinks so low of himself because of messages in his life. He was told he would “never amount to anything,” by a parent. And the other parent was the root of incredible physical pain. This is a young man who, from the little I know so far, does not see the beauty in himself, but oh so wants to. That is evident. “I’ll show them,” he says. “I WILL succeed…but it still hurts.” I didn’t immediately put the rocks away, because I saw a bit in him what I think many of us see in rocks…an inability to take a closer look, wonder about the story, imagine the adventures, and find the beauty. Rocks make it through everything! From the power of a volcano, to a bulldozer moving the earth, to my son’s hammer as he wailed it in curiosity of what the inside of it looks like (mine too). No matter how they change, a piece of them always stays the same. The beauty holds fast, it just changes sometimes. I wish more of us could see that beauty within ourselves…we each have a story, each of our grooves represents a different experience or adventure, a new tale of survival. When we brush past it, or purposely ignore looking closer, we fail to see the gifts God has blessed each of us with. Those nubs, bumps from my son’s hammer, painful experiences, ARE reminders of our survival. Next time you see a stone with a story, pick it up. Wonder about its life. Its adventures. Feel the smooth or the rough…and be energized by the strength it represents. Be energized by YOUR strength. Isn’t it amazing at what you’ve made it through? Life is good.