What a Billion-Year-Old Rock Taught Me About Worry

Enjoy this warm, imaginative episode of Tracks for the Journey in which I sit in my spring prayer garden and talk with Red — my billion-year-old granite stone. Through this playful yet profound dialogue, I probe Red's geological journey (meteor strikes, ice ages, and all) to offer a surprisingly simple antidote to modern anxiety: stop trying to figure everything out, plant yourself on solid ground, and live fully in the present day.

Transcript

I asked members of a class what made them feel truly, deeply afraid. One man said, “Spiders,” then a person quickly mentioned, “Snakes.” Some went a bit deeper, “Politics today and what might happen,” which gathered moans of agreement. “Chemo not working,” said another, leaving everyone silent for a minute.

What troubles you late at night? Let’s talk about the fear that lurks half-hidden in the mists of the future. 

I have a small prayer garden. The main feature is a soccer-ball size, red granite stone. It sits on white rocks, a striking contrast that draws the eye and the heart to pause and stay a few minutes. I’ve named this billion-year-old friend Red. 

A few days ago I talked with Red about worry. I was sitting in a rocker in the prayer garden at the Bright Star Farm. The Spring morning felt crisp under a stunning blue sky.

“Red, it looks like we made it through another winter.”

“Oh, yes, Spring,” the stone replied as tiny specks glistened on his polished patina.  “I’ve been looking at the cedar elm tree above me. She was a bit slow to leaf out this year.”

“I noticed that too. The winter was so dry and maybe that held her back. You’ve been neighbors since I built the garden.”

“I’m jealous of her and the rose bushes. They put out leaves and flowers and grow in size, while I just lay here and hold the earth in place. But I do like it here in the garden. Better than the old pile at the landscape company where you found me.”

“I guess you’ve traveled a few miles over the last centuries, right?”

Red was quiet with thoughts of his journey. “I started a billion years ago, you know. Got pushed up by the magma from 100 miles down to come out on top of the Rocky Mountains. Beautiful spot way up high. Wish I could have stayed longer but a big quake sent me and a million tons of my cousins down into the valley. I landed in the middle of the river, all jagged and onery for the insult.”

I nodded. “I didn’t know about that traumatic experience.”

“Oh, it turned out to be a good thing. The water, the cold, the heat, they worked on me. I liked watching the fish. And the rushing water of the spring snow melt tumbled me around for a few million years to wear off those rough edges.”

“I like the way you look now so smooth and with the different red shades.”

“It wasn’t easy life at times. Especially when that big meteor hit.”

“Wait,” I said. “You mean the meteor that hit Mexico 65 million years ago and killed all the dinosaurs?”

“Yeah. That rocked my world so to speak.” He rumbled a deep laugh. “I was in a coma for a long time. I hadn’t heard about humans until some folks started walking around New Mexico 50,000 years ago. I adjusted to the new neighbors. Good people who knew how to treat the earth with respect. I was sorry they didn’t live long enough to really get acquainted.”

I nodded with some sadness. “You’re right. Humans like me don’t have much of a lifespan compared to you. Since those natives bothered you, more than a thousand generations of people have been born, lived, and died. I hope to live 100 years but that’s nothing for you.”

“Being a rock has some privileges that I’ve come to enjoy.” 

“That peaceful life changed about 25 years ago, didn’t it?”

“Big time. I couldn’t believe it when a human scooped me up and drove me to Texas. Next thing I knew here I was with you in the garden and the 21st century.”

“Red, the past is interesting, but a lot of humans now are worried about the future. People fighting over things, polluting the planet, governments changing—we don’t know what could happen and it scares us. We don’t live very long, from your perspective, but we sure worry a lot.”

“I’m sorry. The Creator just had different plans for us, I guess.”

“So you’ve heard of God and Jesus?”

“Of course. I was honored when Jesus told a story about me.”

“A story about you?”

“Right. I’m a rock. I’m not sand. Remember that teaching?”

“I do.”

“That’s shows how you can stop worrying. Find what is solid and establish each day on that. Then no matter how many days or centuries you have, you’re good.”

“I like that. It’s hard, though. I can’t figure out what is solid.”

“Maybe you’re in too much of a hurry. Life doesn’t need to be figured out. Just live it every day. Pay attention to what is going on now. Stand on the solid ground. Don’t be afraid with a good Creator near you.”

I leaned back in the rocker. I noticed clouds floating, the roses blooming, and heard the wind whistling in the tree. Shadows played across Red’s unperturbed surface.   I tried to stay in that present moment, not turning to the past, nor rushing to the future. 

“You’ve learned a lot in a billion years, friend. Living one day at a time, staying on solid ground, listening for guidance. That’s good.”

“I’ve had many Spring days to think about it.”

“I’m guessing you have billions more to live before you dissolve into beautiful pink beach sand by the ocean. By then, I’ll be with the Creator full-time. I’ll try to come back to visit you when I can.” I rubbed him for good luck. 

Red wiggled good wishes. “Live your day, frail human. That’s good enough.”