Holding On and Letting Go (Lisa)

Written in the Spring of 2020. Shared now for those who are holding on or letting go of something or someone.

My sister knew I was having a rough day. She implored me to, “Look down on your walk home and find a little stone to hold on to.” Donna collects stones and pebbles and they all hold meaning for her. She sees the holy in them and she wanted me to have a piece of her peace.

It’s hard, slowly losing someone you love, especially when that someone is so sweet and tiny and precious, especially when they are your daughter of almost 27 years and 104 lbs. who still gets carried everywhere by her daddy. It’s hard and harder still to watch her find fewer reasons to smile, to open her eyes, to stay awake.

Her complications are getting more and more, well complicated. My head is spinning, my phone is ringing, the medical talk is breaking me down. She blows up, we work to get the water off her lungs, out of her lungs, and then our efforts cause new complications requiring new interventions. We do all this in an effort to give her comfort but still, she’s finding little joy, fewer reasons to open her beautiful blues. It’s all hard on her, this life, this work, it’s wearing her down and she has every reason to call it quits but she keeps coming back and we are grateful for our time with our beautiful Claire but… It’s hard.

So, I looked down for a stone, a pebble, something round and smooth that would feel good in my palm, something I could stroke and love without any hard edges, something that would warm in my hand and in turn, warm me. I looked and looked and every pebble I found was tightly fastened in cold concrete, bulging up from the hard aggregate of rock and cement, stubbornly standing out from all the rest, just not loose. I would bend and stoop and peck at each stone I found, but they were all the same, stuck, holding on.

Perhaps for me and Claire it was the same, maybe we too, were just a little stuck, holding on.

As I walked along the pebbly sidewalk, I thought of my dad, mixing cement like this when I was just a little thing. It made me smile, recalling how he would talk me through the whole process, such a loving time spent together. I remember the wheelbarrow, out by the back porch, how we layered rock and sand, cement and water. He explained each step while letting me hold the watering hose, and together we’d scrape the hoe back and forth, stirring it all up until it was the perfect consistency. When he poured and smoothed the mixture, all the bumps, all rough edges fell away and the surface became so smooth. My dad was so good at loving things into place.

It’s probably not true but I’d like to imagine these pebbles I peck at, were at one time, loved into place, hidden beneath a clean surface. Still, it seems a lifetime of weathering life’s storms has worn the smooth away, bringing them to the surface. When they are finished holding on, they too will be free, loose themselves, ready to be picked up, just not today.

I picture Jesus bending and scooping us up, like the freed pebbles. Taking us into His hands, He will forgive away all the rough edges, making us smooth once again. Unlike me, Jesus isn’t looking for anything round and smooth to warm his hands, his heart. He likes texture. He’s just looking for those who are done holding on. And each pebble will know when it is ready.

I never did find that perfect stone but I found something better to warm my heart. I felt like I climbed a mountain that day and as I trudged along Mt. Rainier Lane, head down and bleary eyed, I found this heart shaped hole in the sidewalk. Looks like someone got loosed! I cried at the joy of it. I guess sometimes we have to look down to look up.