Sunday Stories October 2, 2016

Painted Rocks

I teach kindergarten. I love children. They are honest and forthcoming, they love freely without agenda. They judge without malice. There is no better life than to dwell among the inculpable chatter and laughter of little voices of limited vocabulary.

Last spring a beautiful smile greeted me and said, “I brought you something teacher.” The child opened her hand and presented a small smooth river stone with a rainbow painted on its surface. It was an instant treasure. I mentioned the rock to the child’s aunt and she said, “She loves to doodle and I ran out of things for her to mess with so she began with the rocks.” It laid on my desk until the school year ended. When I packed my room for summer cleaning the rock came home to my kitchen and now graces a crystal platter on my counter.

Months passed and a new year began. Classmates met and began to bond, some bashful, others outgoing, some fearful, others ready to conquer the world, but one common characteristic existed. They all sought “Peace on earth, good will toward men,” and they began bestowing glad tidings on each other anyway they could find.

A new beautiful smile came to my desk one morning and opened a small felt purse. Inside were many colorfully painted rocks. Bashful brown eyes asked if she could give them to her friends. By friends she meant each classmate. The stones were received with eager enthusiasm. Miniature fingers and eyes examined them closely, compared them and assessed them a great value.

Tragedy struck our little group when a parent lost his valiant battle with cancer. How do you explain death to a small child? You don’t. You love and comfort. So as a class we began to gather and paint. Soon we had a basket full of rocks. We wrote our words of condolence and tied them to a wicker handle with a green bow. The basket sat next to a sad little boy as he bid farewell to his dad. Those silly little rocks made their way to the cemetery where devastated adults grieved a life cut short, but a dimpled little hand clung to the comfort sent by his friends.

What is so special about these stones? Absolutely nothing except, something worthless became priceless when it was covered in love.

If you visit our little town, you may find a painted rock along the wayside. Take it and let it remind you that while you were once a worthless sinner, through Jesus’ blood you are forgiven, covered in love and uniquely priceless.

Humbly,

Gretchen