Ponder the Rock

I've become well-acquainted with rocks of late.  I've picked through flagstone in the bulk yard for hours, shoveled endless wheelbarrowfuls of purple quartz into the landscape, and taught my 8-yr-old geology basics, like why river rock is smooth and rounded while quarry stone is angled and glinting, as she tagged along on my multiple trips to Sargent's Nursery.

Many moments my mind wandered to Opa, my dear grandfather, who passed away last week.

 
Opa was born by the light of an oil lamp in 1919, in a primitive cabin built by his father.  He played army baseball with Joe Garagiola, worked on the Mercury, Gemini, and Apollo space projects, fought wars, built a cabin, reeled in a giant, and I mean, giant fish.  I remember it.  It stared at me from his basement wall.   

But more profound is what he taught me of generosity, love, and acceptance; how his eyes twinkled when I entered the room; how he passed on his appreciation of the Canadian wilderness and blueberry pancakes and good shoes and Dunkin' Donuts.

Ponder the rock from which you were cut...-Isaiah 51:1

This is the verse that jumped off the page this morning in my quiet time.  With gratitude I thank God for all of the best and beautiful things I have inherited, and for the generational issues I've been spared, and that I have been brought to...

A place filled with exuberance and laughter, thankful voices and melodic songs. -Isaiah 51:3