“The doctrine of the Incarnation is itself an invitation to all believers to love the earth, cherish it, find the divine in it.” - (Matthew Fox - Eco-Prophet)

I love rocks and stones. I have them placed in various parts of the house having been in the habit of picking ones up that I’ve been drawn to over the years. I should have bagged and labelled them because for the most part I can’t remember where they came from, except for a special few. But this would have felt more like gathering evidence with some kind of classification system needed. No, rather I have scooped them out of their natural environs because of a strong sense of connection at the time, these stones that have somehow cried out to me, ‘put me in your pocket and take me home.’ I have stones and rocks from all around the world, places I’ve visited over time including, of course, Aōtearoa; North and South.

This then is my collection, (those of whose origin I can remember)...

5 flat stones sit on my dressing table piled up on top of each other. At the time I remember linking this to the story of the boy in the Bible who gathered 5 stones and threw them at a giant before he cut off his head. I don’t particularly like this gruesome story, proudly told to children, it’s the stuff nightmares are made of. But nonetheless that was my connection at the time.

SInce then I’ve changed the meaning of this little pile to symbolise my journey by foot across Spain where huge shrines of stones are found piled atop of each other to represent the stories of the pilgrims who place them there. Some that I picked up along the path I lay down on these stone altars also, each representing a loved one I’d left behind at home, with a karakia to accompany. The rock that accompanied me on the entire trip was a scallop shell, gathered from the shores of a NZ beach, tied to the back of my back pack for the journey, and now sitting at my front door attached to a walking stick is a reminder that we make our road by walking on this hard worn earth.

I have one beautiful round rock that I picked up from a river in Coromandel while I was on a retreat. I wasn’t sure if I should take this one as the site we were staying on was so sacred and I wondered if I might upset some kind of universal equilibrium. But this smooth river boulder was just lying in front of me on the path I was walking, somehow enticing me to pick it up. So trusting my intuitive voice, I did. I acknowledged its place of belonging and thanked it for its invitation and even though it was bulky and heaving in my pocket it was a great source of strength. This one sits alone on my dressing table, next to an image of the Southern Alps, the Mother of Aotearoa Rocks.

Then there is another uneven pile of small jagged and multi-coloured river stones that I picked up from the South Island’s Maruia River recently. It was suggested to me (this time by an external voice) that it might be somehow wrong to take something that belonged to the Awa. But my obsession was greater than my concern for this braided-wandering-mysterious Body of water and seeing as there was hardly a shortage I picked them up anyway. I honour these stones and their part to play in the grandeur of this land.

We were gifted a large piece of pounamu that sits beside another large flat river rock on our bookshelf. These two sit in front of an image of Oaua Island which is just off the coast of Māori Bay at Muriwai. This sacred stone is special, not only because of its West Coast River origin, but because of the deep meaning behind the image it sits alongside, one used to symbolise a stage of the journey of the faith community I belonged to and a song that was sung. This rocky outcrop sits alone off the rugged beach coast, a home for seabirds and other creatures that can withstand the buffeting wind and sea.

And then on my coffee table sits this beautiful large clear glass jar that was used by an artist friend in an exhibition. He had invited people to provide the names of 5 significant people in their lives which he then etched onto the side of the jar. He gave me the one I named, and I filled it with beautiful stones that were washed up on the shore of our northland holiday beach. (I wrote a very long blog just about these ones last summer so I won't repeat myself but you can read it over on the Journal under ‘A Summer Read’. It accompanies my Camino passport, a reminder of a time when all that mattered was putting one foot in front of another onto the rocky path ahead.

Then there are a few stones that I collected during the most physically challenging experience of my life at Outward Bound, ones that have become mixed with other random piles of stones I have lying around. These remind me of the weight that is carried when exposing oneself to something that feels at the time beyond all capability and also of the way we might carry each other, even though heavy to the other side of a swollen river.

When I was growing up our driveway was made of stones. I can still hear the sound of my Father’s Austin coming down the street, hitting the shingle on its last leg to home. I have loved stone driveways ever since.

And what about those times as kids that we picked up flat stones and skimmed them across the river? How disappointing when they sunk but what an achievement when they bounced, bounced, bounced across the surface. You had to pick just the right flat stone.

Maybe these hard worn mineral jewels remind me of the rock that I was hewn from, this planet whose core is solid and indestructible? And if I can only believe that within me contains the same dust particles that have formed these stones, realising that I am deeply interwoven and connected in and with the world around me, at the core of my being. Then I can be grounded and present to contribute and participate in such a way that change can happen, new ways of living and being as a member of all of the communities that call this third rock from the sun, Mother Earth, Papatūānuku home.

Afterall, if I care to believe it, I’m just a chip off the old block.

A chip off the old block… (rocks pt 2)

My image of God creates me *

Lost and Found