Carrying Rocks

- a post by Jeanna Mason Stay

My kids and I were parked and heading off to the dentist's office when I looked at my toddler to see what was taking him so long to get out of the car. In each of his hands he was carrying a rock about the size and shape of a hot dog bun. 

I lifted him out of the car so he didn’t have to let go, and we were on our hurried way to the dentist (late, I confess). 

When we got to the office, he set his rocks down on the little table in the waiting room and happily played with the toys. I couldn't just leave these giant rocks there, though, so when we got called back to the offices, I picked up the rocks and stuffed them in my purse to dispose of later. 

Fast forward a couple of weeks. 

I was hunting for something else in my purse when my fingers brushed against something rough. I investigated and of course I found the rocks there. I'd meant to dispose of them, but I just forgot. I’d been carrying rocks around in my purse for weeks!

I tend to find metaphors everywhere, and I couldn't help wondering what sort of rocks we might be carrying around in our lives without even noticing. Things we meant to deal with but then just let them slide. Attitudes about ourselves that we maybe meant to examine for truth but just began to believe without even realizing it. Beliefs about the way the world works that keep us from achieving and being more. At first they don’t seem big or important (after all, I didn’t notice those rocks for a couple weeks!), but maybe they add up.

Am I carrying around rocks? That professor who told me I seemed dismissive of others—did I start to believe that I was just plain bad with people?* What about all those years I spent thinking I had ugly, muddy brown eyes when in reality they were green?**

What rocks are weighing you down? And why are you waiting to get rid of them?

* This is a true story, though oversimplified. His full comments were partially right and partially wrong, and I took them so very badly, but that was only partially his fault. Essentially, we both handled that whole situation badly, but that has nothing to do with this post. So I’ll just turn it into an excessively long footnote instead.

** This, weirdly enough, is also a true story. And for the record, I love brown eyes—all my children and my hubby have gorgeous ones—but in my mind my eyes were like dying grass and mud being stomped on. You know the opening credits scene from Joe vs. the Volcano? That’s how I felt about my eyes.