What's in your pockets?

When my son, Keagan, was younger, he used to love collecting rocks.  Every day he would come home with pockets weighed down with rocks of various sizes, colors and shapes.  For some unknown reason, he really, really liked the gravel they used on his school playground.  This fascination with rocks caused me major laundry headaches.  When picking up his jeans, they were so ladened with rocks they felt like they weighed a hundred pounds.  I couldn't figure out how this skinny little boy managed to walk around all day with all this weight. I'm quite sure that half of the playground ended up at my house.  And I'm equally sure that the garbage men were stunned at the weight of our trash can.  I can see it now, two trash men coming up and collecting our cans, one looking at the other and asking, "Geez, what do they put in their trashcans to make them so heavy?  Rocks?"  Ummmmmm…. yes.

I was so desperate to end rockmagedden in our household, that I took to begging my son to not collect any more landscaping rocks, telling him that I hated to keep throwing them away.  Turns out that was the wrong thing to say.  He looked at me with big, sad eyes and said, "You're throwing away my rocks?"  Uh oh.  I assumed he knew that was what I was doing.  I mean really, where did he think all those rocks were going?  I tried to reason with him by saying that all those rocks were weighing him down.  They were causing him to wear holes in his clothing, not to mention wrecking havoc on my washer and dryer.  And, he was bringing home the same type of rock day in and day out.  There was nothing special or unique about them.  He was quite upset at me.  I felt bad, but I also felt justified in my argument.  We ended the discussion by agreeing to what I thought was a good compromise.  He could still collect rocks, but he agreed to only bring home those rocks that were unique or different or special to him.

The VERY NEXT DAY…. I see him walking toward me as I pick him up from school.  I immediately notice that his jeans are once again turned into low riders.  I sigh….. loudly.  When we get home, I stop him from going into the house and tell him to empty his pockets on the porch.  He does so, reluctantly.  And yes, it's just as I suspected, those tiny little pockets of his were loaded with landscaping rocks.  All looking the same.  Same color.  Same type.  I can feel my blood pressure rising just a little bit, but I calmly ask him if he remembered our agreement.  He looked at me with big, happy eyes and said, "Yes mom, I only brought home the special rocks."  I glance down again at the uninspiring pile of rocks  before me.  I look at him.  He looks like he believes every word he is saying.  I finally asked the question that I should have asked in the first place.  "Son, what makes these rocks so special to you?"  I then spent the most incredible 20 minutes with my son as he picked various rocks and explained what had made each one so special to him.  He picked up one rock, and to my utter horror (because I am a certified germ-aphobe) licked it.  After I got over the horror of thinking about all the "stuff" on that rock I actually clued into what he was saying.  "See mom,"  he said, "This rock turns a pretty dark black when it's wet.  And it sparkles." And then, whispered to me, "I think it might have some gold in it."  And you know what?  He was right, when the rock was wet, it was a pretty color, and the sparkles captured and reflected the sunlight in an interesting way.  But the true gold was in the happiness in his eyes as he told me about that rock.  The next rock was special because one of his friends gave it to him.  The next rock was unique because when you looked at it a certain way, it looked like a face.  And on and on he went, revealing to me how he marked all the special things that had happened to him in his day by collecting those rocks.

This story is a great illustration for life.  We all go through life, collecting "rocks" for our "pockets."  I'll admit, sometimes when I have looked at others, all I see is that they are walking around with pockets full of boring rocks, that do nothing but weigh them down.  I easily dismiss their rocks because I do not take the time to discover the value those rocks have to them.  The true key to understanding and loving someone lies in taking the time to ask about their rocks and the meaning behind them.  To open myself up to viewing their rocks they way they see them.  To truly listen to their "rock" stories.

After that 20 minutes of sitting with my son on the porch, listening to his "rock" stories, I no longer viewed those rocks as unimportant, bothersome, and boring.  Together, we decided to dedicate a space in the back yard to Keagan's rock collection.  He could gather rocks and place them there, as many as he wanted. As expected, Keagan grew out of his rock phase, but while he was still collecting, I made sure to take the time to listen to his "rock" stories.  Those stories provided me great insight as to what was going on in his day to day life.  Even now, as a teenager, he will sometimes find an interesting rock while we are out and bring it up to me to show me what makes it special.  Every time he does this, my heart stops, my ears perk up, and my spirit rejoices that he still does this.

My challenge to myself and to you is to take the time to pause, listen, and encourage those around us to not only reveal their rocks to us, but also to reveal what makes the rocks they are carrying around unique and special to them.  To let them feel comfortable, loved, and understood.

I'll leave you with a few photos of some of the amazing "rocks" I have come across.  Have a great day!