I woke this morning thinking about Rock Tumblers. I haven’t thought about Rock Tumblers since our oldest was a young girl. We bought her one so she could learn the science of how rocks are smoothed. It was an exercise in patience as the small gadget churned and tumbled the rocks for days on end before any evidence of smoothing was apparent.
I didn’t know why I was remembering all this until I walked along the Ocean’s Edge this morning, bent over in search of just the right shells to stitch onto my ocean fragment. I realized that out there in the ocean, and especially where the Breakers are, the shells are, in essence, in one big Rock Tumbler. I recalled the churning quality of the waves, having first hand knowledge of this as well as the refining and smoothing (or skinning!) nature of sand on shells over time.
This too is Breaker Living. Our everyday lives are like Rock Tumblers. A regular and ceaseless churching and turning which can refine our rough edges, smooth out creases, soften crusty exteriors.
This all sounds good in theory. For me, I seem to grow barnacles even in the tumble of everyday life. I need the Ocean’s Edge to dry out my waterlogged limbs. Swimming against the current is trying. Getting out of the tumbler for a week resets my batteries, unravels knots and stitches up frayed edges.
Am I ready to dive back in? To run with the race horses, mane flying in the wind? To enter the crucible of day in and day out? Ready or not, I’m carrying the memory of Ocean’s Edge with me. As I tumble and churn each day I’ll strive to keep my eyes on the horizon as a steadying device. I’ll ask for Grace to slow the pace, joy to smooth the path, love to light the way through the frothy foam. As I leave the peace of this week and begin to hear again the roar of the everyday tumbler, I am grateful for the Ocean, for sand and salty air, for sea gulls and oats, for shells and waves, for breakers and boats, for family and good food. I’ve been given a gift to stitch into the fiber of my being.