Why Gravel may be the Secret to Long-Lasting Love!
We were perched on the rim of a red-rocked mountain when I remembered the gravel.
We’d spent the afternoon exploring trails tucked between canyon and cliff, my dingy shoes a dusty orange reminder of the steps we’d shared.
Soon the sun would sink, and we’d hike down through shifting shadows. But for a moment, time dangled flirtatiously between day and dusk.
My husband had pointed the camera and quietly clicked while I’d tried to sear the moment on the backs of my eyelids so I wouldn’t forget.
Because forgetfulness has a way of numbing your soul.
And I have lived numb.
And I have lived blind.
And I have lain weary in the dark of night begging God to wake my soul to glory.
My husband had wrapped his strong fingers around mine and tugged me toward the edge of the rock where we’d stood wordless, assaulted by the brazen beauty. He’d exhaled a sigh of awe, his green eyes dancing like the speckles of daylight on the jagged rocks below. And I’d wondered how long it had been since I’d really seen him.
I had forgotten the way his eyes shimmer when he smiles.
Isn’t forgetfulness always the first step toward ingratitude?
And ingratitude, the precursor to blindness.
I stared long and remembered the way his eyes had held mine on our wedding day.
Those green orbs had danced then, too; in the flicker of candlelight and covenant promises.
And I had trembled as I’d stood in white, mesmerized by the miracle of it all.
Those green orbs had danced then, too; in the flicker of candlelight and covenant promises.
And I had trembled as I’d stood in white, mesmerized by the miracle of it all.
When had I stopped thanking God for the miracle?
Rob had creeped closer to the ledge and leaned low to capture the sun’s last gleam through the lens as I’d watched the shifting shadows turn the canyon’s gold to gray.
What color was our love before it became cloaked in the shadows of ordinary life?
My eyes had followed the sun, sinking fast into that gulch carved by wind and water and time.
And I’d wondered how a woman bridges the gaps carved slowly by the spin of life.
How does she re-awaken her heart to the miracle of a man who goes to work every day without complaint, who pays the bills faithfully, and chases hard after Jesus?
How does she reach across the chasm of carpooling and tantrum taming; homework helping and bedtime battling to grab the hand of the man who has held her in the darkness and danced with her in the light; who has welcomed five babies from her womb and loved her more than she’s loved herself?
How does she reach across the chasm of carpooling and tantrum taming; homework helping and bedtime battling to grab the hand of the man who has held her in the darkness and danced with her in the light; who has welcomed five babies from her womb and loved her more than she’s loved herself?
How does she begin again to see clearly the beauty of those hands that have pitched hundreds of baseballs in the front yard and wiped thousands of tears off of soft flushed cheeks?
How do we keep our love from growing ordinary when our moments feel so commonplace?
Rob rose from bended knee, his feet knocking loose stones over the rocky ledge,
and it’s then that I remembered the gravel….
Eight-year-old Hannah and I had taken a walk on Sanibel Island in Florida last spring.
We were meandering through our vacation resort when suddenly my daughter had paused on the edge of a gravel parking lot to tie her shoe.
We were meandering through our vacation resort when suddenly my daughter had paused on the edge of a gravel parking lot to tie her shoe.
She’d bent low to fix her laces; then squealed with joy and dropped to her haunches.
I’d watched, confused, as she’d begun digging in the dusty rocks.
“Honey, what are you doing?” I’d asked, looking around for any cars that might be waiting to park where my daughter had plopped.
“Mom, I’m digging for treasure!” Hannah had cried. “There are all kinds of seashells mixed in with these stones!”
I’d tugged at my little girl’s arm in a silent plea to keep moving.
“We can hunt for special shells on the beach,” I’d urged. “These are just the ordinary ones that are used for gravel.”
My Midwest girl had smiled at me, her blue eyes shining as she’d cupped a pale pink shell in the palm of her hand.
“But, Mom, this gravel is beautiful.“
Another walker had rushed by the parking lot, her hands laden with pool towels and suntan lotion.
Hannah’s eyes had lifted from the gravel and cast a sad glance at the passer-by.
“I guess nobody else has time to notice…”
Another walker had rushed by the parking lot, her hands laden with pool towels and suntan lotion.
Hannah’s eyes had lifted from the gravel and cast a sad glance at the passer-by.
“I guess nobody else has time to notice…”
My husband slid the camera into its case and led me back to the craggy trailhead.
Our feet shuffled in silence.
And I uttered thanks with every step…
Thanks for dirty shoes
and able legs,
for growing children and growing faith;
for laughter around the dinner table and his warm skin pressed against mine at the end of a long day…
And I uttered thanks with every step…
Thanks for dirty shoes
and able legs,
for growing children and growing faith;
for laughter around the dinner table and his warm skin pressed against mine at the end of a long day…
My limbs were growing weary, but my soul was wide awake.
We neared the end of that dusty path, and I suddenly noticed that the gravel beneath my feet looked as beautiful as that red-rock mountain bathed in moonlight.
I grabbed a handful of the auburn stones and prayed that I wouldn’t forget.
The Overflow: Trust steadily in God, hope unswervingly, love extravagantly… –I Corinthians 13:13, The Message
Let’s Talk: How do you keep your love from growing “ordinary” in the spin of life?
Thanking Him for all this beautiful gravel…
1520. Maggie singing as she plays
1521. Joshua’s waking with a “great idea” before dawn
1522. Babies born safely while I sleep… a man who welcomes new life with a smile
even at 3 A.M.
1523. A coffee date with Amanda- the joy of a growing friendship
1524. The purr of the heater as the wind whips hard outside.
1525. Eating Thai take-out by candlelight while the kids curl up in the basement
1526. Luke carrying Maggie into church so she won’t get wet in the rain
1527. Curled up under the red blanket with Hannah, reading a book together on a rainy Sunday afternoon.
I grabbed a handful of the auburn stones and prayed that I wouldn’t forget.
The Overflow: Trust steadily in God, hope unswervingly, love extravagantly… –I Corinthians 13:13, The Message
Let’s Talk: How do you keep your love from growing “ordinary” in the spin of life?
Thanking Him for all this beautiful gravel…
1520. Maggie singing as she plays
1521. Joshua’s waking with a “great idea” before dawn
1522. Babies born safely while I sleep… a man who welcomes new life with a smile
even at 3 A.M.
1523. A coffee date with Amanda- the joy of a growing friendship
1524. The purr of the heater as the wind whips hard outside.
1525. Eating Thai take-out by candlelight while the kids curl up in the basement
1526. Luke carrying Maggie into church so she won’t get wet in the rain
1527. Curled up under the red blanket with Hannah, reading a book together on a rainy Sunday afternoon.
Linking again in community with Ann and these lovely grace seekers:
l.l. for on, in, and around mondays, laura for playdates with god, and jen for soli deo gloria
l.l. for on, in, and around mondays, laura for playdates with god, and jen for soli deo gloria
Absolutely beautiful!! You opened my eyes to another aspect of gratitude – thank you!!
Oh, Alicia. I have lived blind too, my friend. The wonder ful thing about going away for a few days is the way it makes me miss my ordinary. And how nice to be missed too.
Alicia, this is breath-taking. Your pics and your heart.
I have been blind, too, like you said. And so, since we live life best thankful, I am opening my eyes to the beauty of my gravel-days. And the way his eyes still dance when he smiles at me.
These are inspired words. Thank you.
Such a wonderful reminder to not let forgetfulness creep in to our ordinary days. Beautiful.
What color was our love before it became cloaked in the shadows of ordinary life?
How does she re-awaken her heart to the miracle of a man who goes to work every day without complaint, who pays the bills faithfully, and chases hard after Jesus?
How do we keep our love from growing ordinary when our moments feel so commonplace?
Oh girl…these questions…beating HARD in my heart. Your post is SO very powerful! Thank you! I am so challenged!
You are in good company! Keeping “Stones of remembrance” is a long-standing, God-ordained custom.
Thank you for this lovely post.
Jan (from SDG)
Beautifully worded – we have amazing men gifted to us from Jesus
~Robin 🙂