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25 November 2012

Small But Loud, Missoula, Montana

Tromping through a field requires watching your step, unless you don't care if you track home, ummm, unsavoury particles on your boots. After successfully avoiding multiple gucky clumps and piles of bones and fur, my wintry trek was arrested by this bright arrangement of pebbles and moss. Driving home, a snatch of song on the radio made me think of a Bible verse that says the rocks will holler out praise to their Creator if we who have a more available voice do not speak up.
I've heard this passage used to pound hearers into feeling inferior if they're not enacting the pounder's interpretation of this verse. Pounding tends to annoy me. But truth is truth, and if we look at it for what it is, we can see past misrepresentation. The promise is that the sincere seeker will find. These little pebbles, bursting with vibrancy, are already declaring their Crafter's delight in detail and unique beauty, simply by virtue of their existence, being what they were made to be, doing what they were made to do. Sometimes we garner unwarranted anxiety by forgetting that shining our light may not look exactly the same as in the next person.

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