Two Candles

Two Candles and Some Pebbles

I was about 8 years old rummaging secretly in my aunt’s attic and found a book of Confucious quotes. I found one I liked so much that I wanted to keep it. My dilemma was I couldn’t ask for the book without revealing how I found it and I couldn’t steal the book because that crossed my ethical boundary. Rummaging through other people’s property without permission = acceptable. Stealing = bad. Post-it notes had yet to be invented, no smartphone with a camera. I didn’t have a pencil. Asking to borrow a pencil would start the dilemma loop again. So I memorized it. Here it is from memory:

“Wise is a man and bound to grow who knows he knows a thing or so but who is not afraid to show the many things he doesn’t know.”

Now that I have wowed you with my burp of memory, I will declare myself wise by revealing something I didn’t know. (Those of you who already knew this something are given permission to chuckle at my naivete…but don’t tell me about it. Sharing something I didn’t know is much easier than dealing with someone saying, “You didn’t know that? I’ve known that for years!”

I didn’t know that when a pebble is smaller than 4mm- about a grain of rice - it is not a pebble. It is a granule. When a pebble is larger than 64mm - about a tennis ball - it is not a pebble. It is a cobble. If a cobble is larger than 256mm, it’s a boulder. Someone decided this and geologists are probably chuckling at me.

The same 8-year-old girl who rummaged in attics mining wisdom also sat near her growing up place at the edge of the gravel(smaller than a pebble and larger than sand) road. She found the larger rocks now known as pebbles and cracked them open with a hammer. She was convinced they were hiding their true beauty inside. Some, not all, were the same on the inside as the outside.

There is a person who walks the beach near cliffs in England, finds pebbles, photographs them, and posts a pebble a day on social media. That person has 14,000 followers. Just for reference, I have 15.

I read a Mary Oliver poem this week. I didn’t memorize it because…I have more devices and pens and paper than I dare to reveal.

Some Questions You Might Ask by Mary Oliver

Is the soul solid, like iron? Or is it tender and breakable, like the wings of a moth in the beak of the owl? Who has it, and who doesn’t? I keep looking around me. The face of a moose is as sad as the face of Jesus. The swan opens her white wings slowly. In the fall, the black bear carries leaves into the darkness. One question leads to another. Does it have a shape? Like an iceberg? Like the eye of a hummingbird? Does it have one lung, like the snake and the scallop? Why should I have it, and not the anteater who loves her children? Why should I have it, and not the camel? Come to think of it, what about maple trees? What about the blue iris? What about all the little stones, sitting alone in the moonlight? What about roses, and lemons, and their shining leaves? What about grass.

I painted a picture of pebbles sitting alone in the moonlight. Perhaps I was sitting alone at the edge of the road in the moonlight, looking for their soul and my own. Perhaps I was looking for a soul in my aunt’s attic. What is the point of this Advent offering? Good question. I think I am still looking for wisdom, still looking for beauty, still asking questions, still willing to share what wisdom and beauty I have found and what I don’t know.

Peace to you,

Deb