Pretty Rocks & Sisterhood

The other day I looked up from doing the dishes, and in the window above the sink are some ‘pretty’ rocks that my kids have collected for me. They know that I like rocks, and whenever they find a ‘pretty’ rock they bring it to me with so much excitement. I have been trying to get them to keep the collections in the rock/flower beds in our front yard, because I am afraid of them filling up the whole house.

 The little rocks on my window ledge are each beautiful in some way, and yet they are all so very different. One is a big, smooth rock that fits in the palm of my hand. It came from the ocean, two years ago on our summer vacation. It is definitely not beautiful, or even pretty, but I love to hold it and feel it, smooth, hard and cool in my hand. When I think about how it became this way, I can‘t help but wish that I could see where this rock had started out and where it had been along the way, the waves it had traveled to get to where it was that day as it washed up on the beach. I have rocks from the Sweetwater River when we crossed it on the handcart trek at Martin’s Cove three summers ago--they aren‘t really pretty, unless they are wet, but they remind me of a sacred and special place, and I wonder if these rocks were there when those earlier handcarts came through, I wonder what has passed by them, and where have they been. I have rocks that are shiny, rocks that are bumpy, rocks that are coated with crystals, and rocks that are filled with color. One of the rocks in the windowsill looks like a zebra, it has stripes in it, and they are very distinct and very different in their make-up, I wonder what type of pressure that rock must have been formed under.

And as I thought about these rocks, so different, so unique, and the value to me in so many ways, I my thoughts drifted to the ups and downs I feel as Relief Society President. The days when I am uplifted and supported and the days I feel burdened and inadequate to meet the needs of so many.  I think of those who are so easy to rely on and those who have surprised me (whether good or not) by support or lack there of.  I think of how we, as women,  are amazing caretakers when called upon to help and to love, to strengthen and to nurture.  But, we also tend to have a huge struggle as women where we tend to judge, to puff up our chests and say something in a haughty tone about someone else that we should be loving, supporting, or at least trying to learn to love.

This is where the rocks come in. I believe that we women are like those rocks that I have in my windowsill ( and in my yard, and most of the time even my in pockets). We are unique and beautiful in our own ways. Some of us have rough edges from where we have been broken off from the trials we have faced, while others have been smoothed, some even polished to a beautiful sheen. We are made of different materials, some that break down easier than others, some that can withstand almost any element while barely breaking down at all. We are giant boulders and small pebbles that have traveled the world and never left the valley. We all have a story to tell, stories that have not ended yet, of shaping, and forming to get to be who we are. And no one’s story is greater and no one’s story is lesser, because they are totally unique to us. These rocks I collect come from our Father’s creation of this earth, and so do we, created from the dust of the earth by that same Father. And yet, so often, we find ourselves forgetting this and that is when we find ourselves comparing, we find ourselves judging, we find ourselves not measuring up to someone else, or even counting their weaknesses, their rough edges, so that we can show how smooth ours are. And all it does is slow our progress. I would like to say that we only hurt ourselves, but in reality we can hurt so many along the way. We nit-pick, we make snide comments, and we miss moments to love, to serve, and to draw nearer to our Savior. Oh, how I would like to be innocent of this and say that I am teaching what I live and what I know. But, that is why we are given each new day, to keep on working, keep on trying, and keep on using the atonement for what He meant it for, to become like Him.

It is my hope, my prayer, that we will begin to see the beauty of each sister, and better understand the journey she has traveled and the storms that she has weathered.  That each sister will be viewed as someone who has strengths and weaknesses and challenges just as all of us do, and that will be our common bond-- that will be the strength that will help unify us, as we remember, truly remember, who we are--Sisters.