Stones of Remembrance

It was 1982. Not the best of years for me. It seemed that my life was falling apart and I had no idea which direction to go. After spending some time in Virginia, I moved back to Florida, the one place I had a home to come to, and I started over ----- again. I had no job, so I took a part time newspaper route. It’s the perfect job for hermits and loners. I could be alone, out in the wee hours of the morning, no one bothering me, no dress code, just me, my papers, and my van.

Perhaps it was seeing my Dad so sick with cancer shortly before moving, or maybe the emptiness of my own soul, or a combination of both. I knew that in my moving that I would probably not see him again and that hit home. Not that we had ever been close and “cozy,” but I loved him, hated to see him suffer, and I felt sad for all that had NOT been there between us. My father’s faith had never wavered through his illness --- it only grew deeper and stronger. And somewhere in the deepest abyss of my soul I knew I was so far from whatever it was he had ---- I might as well have been keeping company with the prodigal son in the pig pen!

It “just so happened” (some would say this, but I believe the Lord makes these things happen) that someone from my way-back past popped up and suggested I read a book, the name of which I just can’t
remember. How can that be????? But I remember that the gist of the whole thing had to do with opening doors of your heart, as you would the doors of your home, and dealing with one room at a time. The only trouble was, you just kept finding more and more doors. And it became a lifetime of “cleaning house.” But one room and only ONE at a time.

As I was delivering those newspapers one night, I was thinking of all the upside-down stuff in my life, all the crazy choices I had made, dreams that turned into nightmares, faith that turned out to be so weak that I wondered if there was any at all, and a tomorrow with no plan or vision or promise. Several hours before, there had been a storm. The tide had been higher than normal and what I did NOT know was that the waters of the Gulf of Mexico had come up over the road, then receded, but left muddy, slippery seaweed on the pavement. So here I come at three o’clock in the morning, and my van full of newspapers slides uncontrollably off the road and into the Gulf. I was able to climb out unhurt, and I just started walking. I had no idea where the nearest phone would be (this was LONG before cell phones), but on that walk, I prayed. I asked the Lord if there was ANYTHING at all left for my life. It just seemed so dark, useless and yes, wet, at that moment. It seemed that I walked forever, but suddenly a verse that I had memorized years and years before came into my thoughts --- Phil. 1:6 -- “He that hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Christ.” I said it over and over and over. And somehow, I knew. He had not lost me, had not let me go, had always known where I was.

So much happens in those sacred moments. Soul washing, heart cleansing, reuniting with a Heavenly Father, and a burden lifting type of peace! And I stooped down and picked up a stone. I wanted something from that place. . . That place of new beginnings.

I still have that stone, along with many others that I have picked up along the way since that night. Each one has a verse that I clung to at a particular time of significance on my journey. Since my Pastor is teaching in the book of Joshua and spent one evening talking about the crossing of the River Jordan and how Joshua had one man from each tribe pick up a stone from the middle of the river as stones of remembrance, I have been thinking of my own stones. Remembering where we’ve been somehow helps me to know where I’m going. His ways don’t change, there is no shadow of turning, He is faithful to His Word, and He is always there! I need to continue to pick up more stones. . . .!