There are no birds of which I have a lower opinion than seagulls. Sure, they look beautiful gliding above the sea, or in a painting. But in real life, they only want to steal your Cheez-its. They are the scavengers of the west coast, and my childhood was marked by many sprints across scalding-hot sand to shoo away the flailing, desperate beasts who had extracted and overturned the beach bag we’d hid under the towel and anchored on all four corners with shoes.
Though now, when I’m at the beach, I find myself picking alongside them, not for snacks, but for a taste of what I cannot fully pocket. Shells, striated rocks, a piece of clouded sea glass. I tend to scavenge at all shorelines, actually. Riverbeds, lakesides, I always want to take something with me.
At home, I have a plastic box with small, divided compartments for my finds. I recall I pulled the five smallest rocks, piled in one compartment, from the creek bed on a hike in Big Sky, Montana, the day my best friend was with me, and I cried there, water up to my ankles. My husband had filed for divorce and suddenly closed our bank account, cutting off my access to all of our money. Needing to find both a car and a place to live, I had never felt so helpless, so heavy, like I might sink. The creek giggled with its melted snow. I crouched and rubbed the moss off five tiny gems. My friend transferred some of her own money to my account. We kept hiking up, took pictures of the kids.
One rock is soft and nondescript grey, but it has a clear, deep notch in the top and a rounded point at the bottom, making it look just like a heart. This one I found on a path near my workplace a couple years ago. As I scrambled to support myself for the first time, I snagged a job at a wedding venue, a remote and glorious old barn where I met with couple after couple, planning the happiest day of their lives. My own marriage was dissolving while I watched others begin theirs, wide-eyed and sparkly. The irony was not lost on me. Sometimes I kept the rock in my pocket, holding the heart that was given to me. I remembered Love, gripped what I could of it while I let my marriage go.
It was in a college Bible study where I first heard of an Ebenezer stone. In a story found in the book of 1 Samuel, chapter 7, a man named Samuel finds a large stone and sets it up as a memorial of how God had helped him, and the Bible says he named it Ebenezer, which, in Hebrew, means “a stone of help.” That day, we all had to find rocks. With black permanent markers, we wrote words of gratitude onto their grainy surfaces. When Samuel sets up the stone, he says, I imagine with some decorum, “My God has helped us thus far.”
Placing the stone said, essentially, “Thus far, I have this story where God was with me, helping me. I’m not sure what tomorrow is going to bring. But my God has helped me thus far.”
I think this is why I can’t stop kneeling at shorelines, getting sand under my nails. I am scavenging for reminders. I need to hold a stone of help in my hands. I want to feel the cool surface of matter - evidence - and keep it as a visual cue: my God has helped me thus far.
If we don’t pick up rocks, place sticky notes on the bathroom mirror, save quotes on our lock screens, give ourselves many, frequent visual reminders, how will we remember God’s help, that he is Help itself? It’s too much to ask to pull up the mental file folders and rifle through the entire history. It’s too hard, when life is pushing us in all directions. I need solid material to tell me the stories I survived.
When you put rocks back under water, they come to life again, right in your hands, just like the day your tears mixed with the creek. It isn’t magic, but it feels like it is.
As we scour for the perfect shell on a great vacation, wishing to keep just a bit of the feeling around, so we ought to collect tokens of our survival. Last year, I thumped down to the tide’s edge a few days before the surgery intended to remove my small, cancerous lump. I collected three rocks, all pale pink, a bit like crystal. They are in my unfancy, plastic box. My God has helped me thus far.
Where are the tiny story-tellers in your house? Can you hold them, cool in your palm, when you need to remember Help is near? Are they whispering your survival to you, the scary and incredible tales you need to be told right about now, how you were not alone when you most certainly thought you were? And how you might have been lost, but for that one plot twist? Or how nothing turned out like you expected - nothing at all - but you’re still standing, very tall and straight, in fact?
I hope you scavenge well, stacking your stones on the nightstand, zipping them into your backpack, gripping them in all your pockets.
Our God has helped us thus far. We keep standing up stones to show for it.
make this.
Gluten-free Pear Crumble
Pears. Hmmm. Pears are like the jeans I find in the bottom of the pile that when I come upon them, I think, “Oh, I remember you! I choose you today!” And then, when I try them, I quickly realize why they live at the bottom of the pile. Something about them leaves a lot to be desired, but you’re not sure exactly what, so you stay loyal and repeat the same curious cycle every time they’re in season.
Well, it’s pear season, and I’m guessing you have some lying around, looking a bit unbecoming. Know that this recipe redeems pears once and for all. Move this casual little dessert to the top of the stack, because not only can you prepare it quickly, but it is gluten-free (as long as you use GF oats), and delicious as all get out. Also, since it’s fruit, it counts as suitable breakfast.
Ingredients
5-6 ripe pears, cored and chopped
1 tsp cinnamon
½ tsp nutmeg
⅛ tsp cardamom
pinch of salt
topping
½ C butter
¼ C brown sugar
¼ C white sugar
1.5 C chopped pecans
½ C rolled oats (GF if desired)
Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
Step 1: Cook pears in a medium sized pot for 7-10 min until softened.
Step 2: Stir in spices and salt, then pour into a buttered 8” x 8” pan or 9” pie plate.
Step 3: In the same pot, heat sugars, butter, oats and pecans over medium heat until melted and fully combined.
Step 4: Pour the topping over the pears and bake for 25 minutes, or until topping is golden brown and filling is bubbling. Let cool before serving. Yummy with whipped cream or vanilla bean ice cream. Serves 6-8
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May you be warm and well.
May you hold reminders of help in your hands.
May you feel the unrelenting nearness of Love.
You are the beloved,
Leslie
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Oh my word, Leslie, so beautiful and I relate to your gut-wrenching moments. I too, use stones…carried in my pocket to get through my hardest days during separation and divorce…maybe even more needed during the most painful days of being married (1st marriage). My stones had carved words- hope, love, joy, peace and I picked up what I needed that day. I plan to place large stones/boulders as commemorative markers of God’s gift, as we move to our new home end of this month.