Twelve Stones

I just can’t bring myself to pick it up. 

The image of this bike thrown aimlessly down is so nostalgic.  With or without a kickstand, it doesn’t matter, this is a standard bike placement.

What joy came from a bike like this when I was a kid.  A bike was everything.  It went out all day and laid prone in front of the house before supper at night.

Oh, the events and encounters in its metal history.  Without a doubt, someone would have caught a ride on the handlebar.  Someone would have stood to peddle giving their friend a lift with legs spread-eagle being toted on the bike seat.  There would have been a flared pant leg caught in its oily chain.  Possibly a playing card clothespinned to a spoke.  For sure, it would have been walked home with a flat tire. And likely, not a one of us have made it this far without having retold a story of a bike scar.

From days long gone, the Old Testament testifies about the placement of 12 stones that recalled nostalgic memories.

There were significant events and encounters the Israelites had in their history with God.  These 12 stones were laid to eternalize a memory of the good things He had done. More precisely they were to stand as a permanent memorial for the future when children asked about them.

That was a day of proof that the living God was undeniably among them at the Jordan River drying up the wet riverbed before their very eyes until all were safely across just as He did with water at the Red Sea.  It brings to mind the other times he used water to save. Moses in the reed basket and Noah in the ark are two.  He still does it with baptism.

These events and encounters mean everything.

They’re stories to uphold.

He did this so His powerful and mighty miracles would forever be retold.

Joshua 4