It is strange at first to consider a rock as a place of comfort, a place of rest. Rocks are ragged and heavy, a confrontation with reality, for rocks are solid and sturdy unlike clouds that change and shift all the time.
The first time someone guided me off a precipice of anxiety through the process of grounding, I began to understand the comfort found in leaning on a rock. We push and push against the world and the world taunts and then sidesteps so we fall while the rock doesn't move at all. It isn't changed. It is real and stable. And then as we cry out in frustration we find the most amazing thing to be true: the rock has broken open of its own volition, the rock has broken open and pours forth life from its depths, living water to revive us in our weariness. This is still a mystery to me, but I begin to glimpse the beauty of the paradox of a comforting rock when I find that in Hebrew comfort means "breathe" and "repent" and in Greek it means "to call near" and in Latin it means "support" or "strengthening." Speak to the rock. It's a ridiculous notion and it is a clear response to questioning. Speak to the rock. Speak to the rock and let the rock answer our fear and complaining and confusion and unbelief with its fullness and overflowing grace. Comments are closed.
|
AuthorI write to process. I write to explore. I write with the hope of sharing truth greater than my own. Archives
February 2022
Categories |