One late autumn day a few years ago, after a frustrating morning of remote work and distance learning, I followed my insistent 8 year old down to the water’s edge, begrudgingly taking a break from staring at a screen. She had a handful of rocks and offered no explanation other than, “It’s important.” When we got to the end of the dock, she turned away from me to face the open water and dropped the rocks into the lake one at a time while whispering, “May you be happy. May you be safe. May you be loved.” Starting with me, she blessed the people and animals in her life one at a time, dropping rocks for each. She ended with herself.
We were only down by the lake for about 10 minutes, but I returned to the day reminded of what’s important.
I remembered that story from back in 2020 today, a day that dawned clear and very, very cold, all of a sudden sub-zero temperatures within grasp as old man winter moves in swiftly. Meeting the school bus in the dark at 7am on mornings like this is not for the faint of heart. I’m feeling the beginning of a cold, and all I really want to do is go back to bed. But up we all got, the school bus was boarded, work was started, and the day is carrying on.
Some days you just feel a little off–even without thinking about the chaos of the collective swirling around. And when you DO think about the chaos of the collective, or if parts of that chaos are impacting you or your family directly? That’s hard. That’s REALLY hard, especially on days you feel a little off anyway. Colds make most of us cranky. And staying up to date in world affairs doesn’t do much to boost one’s mood these days.
Now it’s midday, the sun is shining, and the lake is frozen solid. The moon was full last night, the one that’s named after the Beavers who have already retired to their lodge for a winter’s rest in this part of the northland. I walk down to the shoreline even though I don’t really feel much like leaving the house, bundled up against the chill. At the end of the dock, I think about that autumn day three years ago, when the world felt chaotic and uncertain, much like it does today, even though now the chaotic slant is coming from somewhere else. (Or is it? Things seem different, but they are more connected than we think, generally.)
I imagine those rocks of blessing my daughter dropped into the lake, how she offered words of blessing to others and then the rocks themselves to the waters. Even though the lake is a sheet of ice today, I can still hear her soft voice speaking the words and the plunk of each stone. I can still feel the ripples they created when they landed.
Offering another being the energy of happiness, safety, and love is a tiny act– a rock dropped in a lake, a ripple outward. A grain of sand on the beach of the world. A footprint that flies away in a breeze or with a wave. But blessings don’t expire, and they can be done again and again. Dropping a rock into a lake is as ordinary as it gets, but doing so uncovers the sacred fire that’s hiding in plain sight.
What ordinary, sacred acts are part of your days right now? If you can’t think of anything, what opportunities exist to look for ritual or blessing in your everyday life? Who or what needs your offering of energy? Add your blessing rock to the lake, even if the lake is frozen.
If you don’t have access to a lake, or dropping rocks into water isn’t your thing, consider the comments a fine alternative. If you feel so moved, share a simple blessing from yourself to another, or to yourself.
A small prayer, shared by a Scottish friend of mine: "May all who are sick in mind, body, or spirit, be well." Works great with mala beads, or a rosary, or, I'm sure, even little rocks plunked one by one into a lake.
I love that. Thank you for forcing me to stop and think and consider what's really important. In my case it's gratitude for all the people in my life who make my day complete with their smile and stories and loving looks on their faces. I am blessed, and must stop now, to let them know.