Reflections of a Rock-Picker

The gas men decided to run some tests over at the site, which means they've been firing off the wells one by one, and will be doing so for the next couple weeks. Due to the duration, I should tape the heavy duty brown paper cut-out over my window again, but I can't bring myself to do it because it turns my room into a cave. Instead, I've just been draping a big quilt over the two bottom posts of my bed. It keeps the pillar of fire out of sight and darkens my bed enough to let me sleep, but the shadowy reflections still flicker off the slanted ceiling. It also makes quite a loud whooshing sound, but since it ebbs in intensity, you can almost pretend it's the ocean. I kind of like it.

Though, it does get a little annoying during the day, when you are outside and would appreciate something similar to silence. Any afternoon that was sunny this past week, we spent picking stones out in the garden. That is one job that makes me feel like not much separates me from someone who lived a thousand years ago. Because here we are, in the 21st century and we are still picking rocks. We can draw two conclusions from this:

1) Generations come and go and yet life really remains the same. We do the same things over and over again—whether it's picking rocks or making a certain mistake—and all it is, at base, is futile, repetitive toiling going on under the sun.

2) There are a heck of a lot of rocks on this here hill! My grandparents and I were talking about this, how we've picked rocks on this hill for over half a century, and the people who lived here before us did the same...but the rocks haven't gotten any fewer for our efforts!

At one point, we actually owned this tow-behind rock picker that you'd hook up to a tractor. It was a really nice blue color, and we named it Rocky (creative, no? But I think we were all under 12, so give us a break). However, I can't remember a time when we actually used it. What I do remember is asking dad if we could use it, and then him saying something synonymous to, but softer than, "No."

It probably had something to do with character formation.

I'm not sure if it cultivated some sort of persevering work ethic in me or not, but I did use it for character formation. The fictional kind, that is. As in, I'd be so bored out of my mind picking rocks that I'd make up characters for a story and then write one in my head. Usually, it ended up being a story about slaves, or another rendition of Cinderella. I think they are both descriptive of what I felt on those hot summer afternoons.

It's funny though, because despite the monotony, it's those afternoons that I look back on with fondness. Andrew and I would make up songs and sing them over and over (the one I remember is "Ol' Mark Wilber had a farm, eeyieeyiooo. And on that farm he had a rock...."). Mostly though, just doing something as a family, working together toward a tangible goal.

So during this horridly long week of school that got me over the halfway mark of the subterm, it was nice to break it up with some sunshine and work with siblings. However, I went between feeling very happy with where I am in life, and also feeling something that verged on astonishment.

Because life is not what I thought it would be. As a ten year old picking stones, I wouldn't just write pretend stories; I'd also wonder about my future, think about what it would look like. Now, here I am in the future (still picking stones!) and life is really nothing like I imagined it as a ten year old. Of course, most people can probably say that =). But it is interesting how life has turned out thus far, how various decisions have put me where I am today. And even though there's a lot of stuff in my life I'd like to change but can't, since it is not in my power to do so, there's a lot more stuff that I wouldn't change.

But it's more than situational; it's also personal. I am not the person the ten year old stone-picking-me thought I would be (i.e., a staunchly optimistic extrovert who does everything and knows everything and has a billion friends). Haha. It's more like, I have a few friends, I know a bit of something from two years of college, and I do very little (hence, I'm still picking stones. Though, I was paddle surfing last week...*sigh*). People tell me I'm extroverted but I don't believe them, and though I'm an optimist in the Christian sense of the word, not all the eggs I crack get served sunny-side up.

So life hasn't gone like I imagined it as a ten year old out in the garden picking rocks. But I raise my glass of bubbly water to unpredictability, and say, hooray that life is turning out like this, even if it is ousting my imagination.

Prov. 16:9