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One metaphor, mixed morals.
Once upon a time there was a little boy who promised his pen pal that he'd mail her rocks from where he lived. Every day, he dutifully taped an address label and postage to a stone the size of his fist, and put it in the mailbox.
The postman never collected them. After several months went by, the postman was joking with other letter carriers about the dumbest things they'd seen go through the mail, and the postman mentioned the rocks just as his supervisor was walking by.
"Do these rocks have addresses?" asked the supervisor.
"Yes," answered the postman, surprised.
"Do they have adequate postage?" asked the supervisor.
"Well, yes," the sheepish postman responded.
"Then it's your duty to deliver them," said the supervisor. "See that it gets done."
The next day, the postman found himself confronted by the pile of fifty or sixty half-pound rocks, and he sorely wished that he hadn't let the job pile up.
I have a pile of rocks. I've been trying to mail them away for years, but somehow, none of my rocks seem to have adequate postage. My rocks are all the ways in which I wasn't like other boys, I wasn't like other girls, I wasn't like other people, I wasn't like humans, I wasn't like wolves -- I wasn't like anything I ever wanted or struggled to be.
And every so often, I add another stamp to one of those rocks.
Somehow it always comes back "insufficient postage."
The postman never collected them. After several months went by, the postman was joking with other letter carriers about the dumbest things they'd seen go through the mail, and the postman mentioned the rocks just as his supervisor was walking by.
"Do these rocks have addresses?" asked the supervisor.
"Yes," answered the postman, surprised.
"Do they have adequate postage?" asked the supervisor.
"Well, yes," the sheepish postman responded.
"Then it's your duty to deliver them," said the supervisor. "See that it gets done."
The next day, the postman found himself confronted by the pile of fifty or sixty half-pound rocks, and he sorely wished that he hadn't let the job pile up.
I have a pile of rocks. I've been trying to mail them away for years, but somehow, none of my rocks seem to have adequate postage. My rocks are all the ways in which I wasn't like other boys, I wasn't like other girls, I wasn't like other people, I wasn't like humans, I wasn't like wolves -- I wasn't like anything I ever wanted or struggled to be.
And every so often, I add another stamp to one of those rocks.
Somehow it always comes back "insufficient postage."
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I guess what I'm trying to say is that the rocks you have might not need mailed away, because the rocks are what makes you unique.
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... the comment I made makes almost no cohearant sense, but I'm glad you got the point. :D
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Exactly! I've found that if I let God nudge me, the rocks that need to be mailed off do make it. But sometimes He wants me to use the rock for a while before sending it off.
And yes, at 7:40 in the morning, that's as coherent as I can get. ;)
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You do make the most excellent point, though: God's in charge of the rocks.
One of my mom's favorite hymns is "Take it to the Lord in Prayer." It seems especially appropriate in this context.
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