How many more miles…left in this Valley of Baca? No horizon in sight, blurry eyes. Manufactured tears? I think not. They flow like no tomorrow.
Oh turn back oh time, turn back! Linger a little longer and taste the memory of care!!
The salt cleanses and purifies; yet sorrow knocks gently echoing the pounding of my heart.
Comfort approaches awakens awareness of His presence, not wiping away, but rather catching and containing each of the preciousness drops as liquid gold plops into that crystal vase of mine only mine, handmade by the lifter of my head and the healer of my heart, my creator who knew of today, and prepared to meet me here, there, wherever where.
Upon arrival to an appointment with a doctor or technician, I find myself headed straight to the hospital’s gift/book store for one of these stones. Each have a different word that brings value to me for the day: a bit of hope, a part of peace, and now a new tradition. While in the lobby or waiting anywhere, I hold the rock firm in my hands, turn it over, read it, take pictures of it, run my fingers over the letters, close my eyes, often remember what He said about rocks praising him, the King of Kings.
I even place the stone in my back pant pocket and I am reminded throughout the day. Reminds me of ancient altars discussed in scripture from the days of old, usually created as a memorial to the place where God meets his people. He still does.
This one was gathered on the day of the initial meeting with the surgeon.