Writing with Rocks-the story

Here is the one that started me down this path.....

Yesterday, a  friend laughingly asked who decorated our car.  Curious we went outside and on the front of our car were words and swirls etched in the hood of our red minivan.  Yes. Etched.  As our daughter ran skipped by, we questioned her and she said “yes, I did it”…”with a rock”.   Quite honestly,  I had to turn my head and laugh at the shock of it all.  Of my daughters, she was the last one I expected to ‘deface’ property!  . As the details came out, a memory that was blurred with all the other seemingly mundane experiences of life became vividly clear.  We were at a local restaurant that had a large selection of white rocks and brick walls.  As we sat out enjoying the beautiful weather one day our sweet girl discovered that the white rock ‘wrote’ on the brick wall.  In childlike innocence she excitedly proclaimed the rock “magic”.  I remember smiling at her excitement and letting her believe the rock was indeed magic.  Fast forward a few weeks and now, my child who had had such excitement about the magic rock, was devastated at what she had done, discovering ultimately that the rock was just a rock .
I was so proud of her dad and how he handled it.  He was disappointed and frustrated, but he responded with such grace- loving and firm. He wrapped his arms around her and held her. My daughter could not accept this at first.  All she saw was her mistake.  With embarrassment and anger at herself, she ran from her dad.  She hid her face.  She shed tears and said she could not possibly be forgiven.   She did not know what she was doing would have permanent consequences, and could not accept it. She felt she did not deserve his grace, but that’s the thing with grace.  If you deserve it it ceases to be grace.   Truth is that is so me.  I hold myself to impossible standards of perfection,  all too often falling prey to a false idea that I earn the love and grace given to me.  As I watch my daughter it pains me to see my tendencies in her, yet it opens my eyes to the folly of my ways.  When I ‘write with rocks’ my loving Heavenly Father teaches me the error of my ways, but he also loves me and holds me in his arms. He covers  me with grace so that though the scars may last as the words in our car will last   my eyes can see grace in the them.
The gift of grace to  my daughter was the first and most obvious lesson I saw in this situation, but as I dwelled on it further, I began to see  another lesson.   When she first wrote with that rock, I smiled. I knew that there was a scientific explanation to the ‘magic rock’, but why dash her excitement?  I let her continue with the false idea of magical rocks.  Yet the initial excitement of the  magical rock paled in comparison to the devastation and embarrassment of the permanent scars when she took that false idea to far.  As a mother, I honestly never counted the cost, never thought that she might do something like that, I never meant for her to be led into heartache from that simple false idea.  And while it was a mistake and in the grand scheme of things will become unimportant there is a lesson in that. How many times do I know the cost, know the depth of truth that is being ignored and do not say anything because I do not want to spoil the ‘magic’?   Joining in with gossip, repeating a lie, supporting a friend who has a misplaced crush, family who have an idea that is not in line with scripture etc. Its so much easier to smile at their ‘excitement’ and even encourage what may seem small and innocent instead of speaking truth.   I’m helping them ‘write with rocks’.  And sooner or later the truth will come out.  The rock will be revealed for what it is, a rock. The magic will disappear  and the scars may be permanent.  Is the false temporary happiness of calling a rock magic worth the consequences?
Parenting is a wonderful journey full of highs and lows.  There moments that just make  me laugh,  moments that I’m so tired I can’t think straight, and then there are these moments.  The moments where in the craziness of our beautiful family, God speaks and the Rock of Ages writes upon my heart.   Moments where the roles are reversed and you realize that God  didn’t just give her to me to teach her, but that He may teach me. May my daughter’s handiwork  etched on the hood of the car be  not just another problem to deal with but a reminder  to be bold enough to call a rock what it is and to accept grace for all the rocks I have written with in my life.