Of Skipping Stones and Generations

There’s a technique to it, this essential cottage skill. 

It’s in the wrist and how you hold the stone.

 And there’s finding the right stone in the first place,

flat and right-sized and resting with just the right weight in your hand. 

And there’s practice. 

The repetition and willingness to accept failure,

toss after toss, until –

There!!  Yes!!  A satisfying sequence of touches dance across the surface of the water

before the stone disappears forever.

Zachary is excited when it first happens for him, standing with arms high in victory, squealing in just-turned-nine delight.

My gentle Grampa Robinson taught me how to skip stones.

Unhurried, patient, in tones that calm the easily frustrated child on his lap.

A safe soul to make mistakes with. 

I remember this as I notice my hand against Zachary’s,

cupping together to demonstrate the angles and finger positions,

his new and swim-clean child hand,

my spotted and veined gramma hand

together mastering this essential cottage skill. 

It evokes the memory, likely more than 50 years stored in my story,

opening now in this moment of wondering if

Zachary will teach this one day too

passing it on to another grandchild on a sunny summer’s day. 

I remember learning to skip stones with Grampa.

I remember feeling safe to fail.

Selah

There’s a presence to it, this essential leaving of legacy.

It’s in the time and giving in to the rhythm of the time

And time and time and a half again

At child’s pace,

Directing and being directed by curiosity

And wonder

And spirit and Spirit

Like a generational dialogue

Declaring what’s essential

And being safe.

And real.

Since my youth O God, you have taught me

And to this day I declare your marvellous deeds

Even when I am old and grey do not forsake me my God,

Till I declare your power to the next generation

Your mighty acts to all who are to come.

Psalm 71:17-18