Upon this Rock
      There is a passage in the Bible in which Jesus states, "Upon this rock, I will build my Church", I have read that passage many times and every time I do, it brings up a memory from my youth.  A memory that really has nothing in common at all with the meaning of the passage.  My mother still talks about it, and though it happened many years ago, before I was even born in truth, but I suppose it resides in my memory and is a part of me, simply because of the number of times I have heard the story.  
     The story, at least as I picture it in the conjured up images of my mind, goes like this; When my family lived on Leonard street over thirty years ago, in a small home, but comfortable from what I am told, dad brought home a rock. This was not just any rock, it was actually a mini boulder, and it was made of Rose quartz, or as it is called here in the Midwest, the finest Sioux Falls Granite. The rock was to big for my father to haul up the two flights of stairs that led to the yard from the street, and he had to ask a  neighbor for help to get his prize into the yard.  This exercise of movement was as long as it was arduous, but in the end it was accomplished.  The rock was set in its place of honor in the yard, in front of the porch, like a guardian at a gate.  No one really knew exactly why dad decided he needed this rock, though I suppose no one really thought to ask, or if they did they probably thought it was perhaps not the brightest thing to do, as there are some things you just do not question.  I do know that in all the times I heard the story, I never really felt the need to ask his reasons and to this day I really have no idea why dad brought home a rock, nor on reflection is it really that important.  The point is that he did, and I am sure he had his reasons.  I recently drove by the place where the old house once stood, it was torn down some years after my family moved out, just to see and perhaps find the answer to the question of why.
     I pulled up to the curb, and parked the car, slowly I climbed the weed covered stairs that led to the place where the old home once stood.  As I climbed the two long flights of stairs I could imagine the labor required to carry the mini boulder up their steep incline to the top.  I reached the top of the stairway and there spread before me was the old yard and the weed covered foundation that was the house, and in front of it stood the guardian rock, or to be accurate, pieces of it, time and nature having found its weak points and slowly, patiently, year after year, breaking it into parts.  I stood there looking for its hidden secret, the ideal that my father had when he brought it home to place into his yard, as I looked and thought, that passage from the Bible once more crept unbidden into my mind, a connection was made, and an idea came fourth, perhaps Dad's rock and the passage do have something in common, an intertwined meaning, just perhaps the hidden message was, Upon this rock I will build my family, and it will stand as a symbol of this, and now through the perfidy of time that single rock has split into pieces, like the children of my father and mother, each child building a family of their own, each one becoming the rock upon which their children find strength.
     Who knows what my father was thinking that day, and as I said before, it really doesn't matter, what matters is the meaning the child understands, and as the child I am comfortable in the meaning I have come to believe in, right or wrong, real or imagined, it's mine and I believe.

Copyright 2008 RRR