I have a rock where I go

I have a rock where I go
When there's too many people,
I have a rock where I go
Where no one can be;
I have a rock where I go,
Where nobody ever says "No";
Where nobody ever says anything--so
There is no-one but me.*


I'm on my morning walk, listening to a talk on my iPod.

I tread the impersonal suburban footpaths. I swish through dry grass under river red gums. I trudge through the car park and along the track around the oval. I come, breathless and sweaty, hot muscles twitching, shoes covered in seeds, to my rock.

It's just any old rock. It's one of those ordinary lumpy greyish brownish rocks used by landscapers that are supposed to make a landscape look natural but don't. It's just the right height for sitting, with a comfortable concave top. It's shaded by a youthful eucalypt and overlooks a small lake fringed with reeds.

I turn off my iPod and sit.

My ears soak up the silence and my eyes soak up the sunlight and my skin soaks up the shade. I watch blue herons stalking through the reeds, cormorants with outspread wings like right-way-up daytime bats, and wood ducks bobbing about in their homely fashion.

Here, in this rare moment of stillness, this mother of 4 prays for the day that's about to begin. I think about the coming responsibilities - the supermarket shop planned for that morning, the blog post I'm working on, school pick-up and time with children in the afternoon, dinner preparation, relaxation with a tired husband in the evening - and pray about each one.

I ask God to give me energy when I'm tired, patience when I'm irritable, and joy when I'm discouraged. I pray that he will help me to use my time well. I pray that I'll respond cheerfully when people interrupt my carefully laid plans. I ask him to give me strong arms for my tasks (Prov 31:17).

Some people start the day with a 'to do' list. Sometimes I do, mostly I don't. It's during this 5 minutes on my rock that I plan my day, prepare myself for its competing demands, and pray for God's grace in every moment.

It's time to go. My husband is minding our 2 year old at home, and I'd better get back so he can start his own work for the day. I sigh, stand up, turn on the iPod, and get my briefly rested muscles back into action.

I walk away from my rock just a little more ready to serve with energy, to love with self-forgetfulness, and to work with a willing heart.

* Changed just a little from A.A.Milne's poem "Solitude" in Now We Are Six.

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