Big Rocks and Bucket Lists
Look at this stuff, isn't it neat?
Wouldn't you think my collection's complete?
Wouldn't you think I'm the girl,
The girl who has everythin'?
Look at this trove, treasures untold
How many wonders can one cavern hold?
Looking around here, you think, "Sure, she's got everythin'"
I've got gadgets and gizmos a-plenty
I've got whozits and whatzits galore
You want thingamabobs? I've got twenty!
But who cares? No big deal
I want more (Ariel)
The scene is as timeless as sun-kissed children and cheap beach toys… A weary mother lures her sandy, little urchin away from the waves with a bright bucket. Mother tells the child that she can fill the pretty bucket with as many treasures as she wants – as long as she can carry them home by herself. Greedy fingers scoop up a wriggling sand crab and plop it in the bottom of the bucket. The girl sees that the habitat could be improved with a scoop of sand and water and some exotic seaweed. Soon she’s lost in the wonder of her expedition. Every corner of her bucket is packed with the most beautiful shells and shiniest rocks on the whole beach. The bucket’s handle snaps. With salty tears rolling down her sunburned cheeks, the little girl trails behind her mother, snatching at sand and shells - shoving them haphazardly into the bucket, which seems surprisingly smaller now. She ignores her mother’s third call, frustrated and unwilling to leave a single treasure behind.
My Homesteading students know by now to “expect the unexpected” in our classes, but I actually surprised them a couple of weeks ago when I handed out 20 jars of rocks. Each jar was the same size as the others, and it contained 3 big rocks, a handful of decorative pebbles, and colorful sand. I explained to the students that the jar represented their time and that the contents represented all of the activities that fill up their days. The big rocks were the most important things in their lives – like their faith, their relationships, and their general well-being. The pretty pebbles represented all of the urgent, but less important, things that fill up their days – things that have deadlines and immediate consequences if they are ignored. The sand represented everything else – the legitimately fun and good stuff and also the sneaky time-wasters in their days. I taped Micah 6:8 to the jars, along with a favorite quote from C.S. Lewis’s book, Mere Christianity, “It comes the very moment you wake up each morning. All your wishes and hopes for the day rush at you like wild animals. And the first job each morning consists simply in shoving them all back; in listening to that other voice, taking that other point of view, letting that other larger, stronger, quieter life come flowing in...” (154).
Next, I showed my students an empty jar to which I added some sand and a handful of pebbles. We all knew there was there was no way those big rocks were going to fit inside with all the other stuff taking up so much space. However, when I put the big rocks in first, the pebbles tumbled neatly into all the empty spaces, and there was extra room for a whole lot of colorful sand.
If only I had a sand dollar for every time I’ve acted like the girl with her snapped bucket and spilled treasures…
Each semester I start out with a neatly-packed bucket. There seem to be enough hours in the day for tasks and studies and sports and everything else that fills up a large family’s calendar. We start strong, and I feel confident and empowered as I check off all the boxes. It happens like clockwork… a week or two into the new school year, some shiny little extracurricular options and Sign-Up Genius notices and business opportunities catch my eye… I start packing a handful of extras into my bucket here and there. My handle snaps.
A few weeks ago, this looked like me falling into a multitasking frenzy. Somehow it seemed reasonable to pack our “fall break” with a cleaning spree, two farmer’s markets, a few family gatherings, and three birthdays. In the midst of the mess and chaos, my dishwasher, dryer and microwave all quit on me in quick succession, and, when I wasn’t baking dozens of loaves of sourdough or washing sinks full of dishes by hand, I was running a chicken hospital in my garage, canning a mountain of jalapenos into Christmas jelly, working at the horse farm with my son, teaching three homesteading classes, driving kids to sporting events and appointments, keeping up with church commitments, and attempting to educate my five youngest kids. Somehow, I made it through my last market before collapsing and sleeping 12 hours straight.
For about a month, I had been choosing to ignore the knowing, side-glances from my own “big rocks” jar, which now stared at me smugly from the windowsill. I knew it was high time to reevaluate my priorities and leave some pebbles and sand by the wayside.
It seems strange that, whenever I feel like I’ve hit my limit in this season of life, I start looking back longingly on the sleep-deprived years of nursing babies and toddlers and monotonous routines. Ironically, these were the very years that I was tempted to wish away at the time! Looking back now, as a mother of several grown children and a handful of half-grown and small ones, and as a grandmother of three babies, I have a unique vantage point. From this place, I can recognize the hidden blessing of those years, decades ago, when I was stuck at home without a car or a cell phone. Twenty-something-year- old me knew that my “big rocks” for the day were to “simply” keep my children loved and cleaned and fed.
Nowadays I have too many distractions and tempting options! I can procrastinate or overcommit, and life goes on without a crisis. For a time…
This past week I resolved to slow down and stick to my “big rocks,” and I was amazed by the sense of calm and wellbeing that spread through every room and member of my home. I focused on the basics, said “no” to the extras, and discovered that I had enough energy and time leftover to linger over animal books with my 7-year-old, have an unrushed conversation with my young adult son, make my husband’s favorite dinner from scratch, laugh over Facetime with my granddaughter, sip tea and scribble down these random musings…
Sorry to be a downer, Ariel, but there is NO PART OF MY WORLD MORE BEAUTIFUL THAN YOUR OCEAN, and those sparkly trinkets you’ve been collecting are highly overrated.
If there’s anything this momma has learned over time and will emphatically tell her students, it’s this… I. WANT. LESS. (Megan)
