Rock of Ages

                                                   Rock of Ages


Ok, so I shot myself with a cannon ball. It is true. No, Iwas not hurt seriously. Due to my superior reflexes and athletic ability I was able to minimize the damage. It would take more than a mere cannon ball to get the Cos.

Still, how did a 16 lb. cannon ball end up attacking me? It was simple, I was gardening. What, you don't garden with a 16 lb. shot put? Why not? It only makes sense. I live on a rock. There is a song in most hymnals about where I live: The Solid Rock. Except for the big tree in front of the house there was no vegetation on the lot on which we built. Plants, at least pretty ones, don't like to grow on rock. Some soil was brought in for a yard but about six inches down you hit rock. So every plant, shrub, flower, and tree I have planted has to have rock displaced to put it in the ground. Most of the vegetation we planted goes to the front yard. There is not much else to do in the front except offer yearly $50-$60  sacrifices to the gardening gods with annuals that last a month and perennials that last two months. The back yard is pretty bare.

So the wife decides we need something more back there, some color, some texture, some interest, something else for the dogs to pee on and something to die a slow agonizing death on the rock. We found a crepe myrtle that matched the type in the front yard. We picked a place along the back fence. I begin to dig.
The hole will be about 18 inches around. It will need to be about 18 inches deep for this crepe myrtle. The 18 inches around are a cinch, easy. I'm not even sweating. The first four inches down are just as easy and then it happens. I hit rock. A friend calls it "chunk" rock. It comes out in chunks. I've come prepared. Hammer, nail pry bar, and shovel. The shovel is finished at six inches. I hit a large solid rock at 8. I hammer, pry, dig, curse, dig, pry, cry--nothing. Time for the shot. I find my 16 lb. shot from college that I have carried with every move we've made through the years. Only my wife has moved as much and been more faithful.

The plan is to propel the shot with great force into the hole, strike the rock a mighty blow, crack the rock,  use the hammer to fragment the rock, and pull the dislodged pieces of the rock out of the hole. With the first heave into the rock I have some success but find I have two large rocks in there, not one. I go to work with shot, hammer, bar, fingers and after 45 minutes have the right side of the hole cleared of the big rock to a depth of 12 inches. Now the left side rock or the rock that's left, if you will. It is bigger, deeper. I lift the shot high over head and bring it down with such force that as I propel it into the hole my feet are lifted off the ground. Thud! Nothing. No cracks, chunks, no movement. Different angle. Thud! Same results. Move around the hole. Rare back. Dead aim on the center of the rock and swhoosh.....THUD! The shot bounces off the dead center of the rock and comes out of the hole faster than it went in. I know from physics that this is impossible but you don't know this rock. It flies out zeroing in on my knee which I am able with my cat-like reflexes to turn just slightly so the projectile glances off the outside of my knee.

Lamentations. I am defeated. Wife administers Gatorade, cold towels and Aleve. I channel Douglas MacArthur or Gregory Peck,"I shall return."

Retiring the shot, I employ new hardware next evening.  A long "rock" bar with a wedge end is used with  some success. After an hour of pounding, hammering, prying, crying and cursing, the large rock is out. The hole for the crepe myrtle is now sixteen inches deep and eighteen inches wide. It is lined with garden soil mixed with what dirt I could dust off the extracted rocks. The myrtle is planted. It will live this year but it has no promise of a long, tall future. It's future may not blossom but if plants have a soul, then it will know of the supreme effort made to give it life.

Sitting exhausted in the grass, I figure about four-man hours of labor was put into one small hole in order for me to kill an $18 plant. Then it dawns on me...how many hours, nay eons, did Jesus invest to break through the hardness of human hearts to  plant the seed of the gospel? The Rock of Ages busting through the rock of hardened hearts. It brings life, promised, guaranteed, and delivered. I see the crepe myrtle and am pleased. How much more the Lord when He sees His truth growing well in hearts of faith.  Our hope is built on nothing less.

Rock Gardening,
Cos