A Memory Stone

A Memory Stone

It rests in my herb garden, a memory stone, reminding me of where it came from and the reason it is here. It’s a reminder of a time past–a slower, quieter time when life was different from the way life is now. It brings memories of the strong, good people who owned the farm where it rested.

If rocks had eyes and ears, it would have heard, as it lay there near the barn, the voice of a farmer coming in from the fields, unharnessing his team of mules or coming down in the pre-dawn or early evening to milk cows. It may have felt the bare feet of children running across it to the creek just beyond the barn yard, or going to the springhouse to bring up butter for supper. 

You see, its original home was a farm in Oklahoma, brought to Arkansas by the granddaughter of the man who once walked around it. It’s more than a rock; it’s a reminder.

The ancient Israelites used stones as reminders of God’s goodness and providential mercy. (see Samuel 7:12 and Joshua 4:1-9.) When the people saw these rocks, they would remember their godly heritage and the story behind the stones. So, this rock in my garden with its unique crevices, colors and shape, is a reminder of my heritage and the dear, strong people who lived in the farmhouse just up the hill from the barn yard.

I see it and remember and I’m grateful. It’s more than a rock. It’s a memory stone. 

 

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