“Where do I go when there’s nobody else to turn to?
Who do I talk to when nobody wants to listen?
Who do I lean on when there’s no foundation stable?”
- “I Go To The Rock” by Dottie Rambo
“Who is your rock, and why do you feel that way about them?”
I posed this question to a little over four dozen 14- to 16-year-olds last week. Immediately, I saw their pubescent faces crinkle with agitation–a response that I’ve grown quite accustomed to receiving from 14- to 16-year-olds.
“What you do mean by ‘rock’?” they seemed to ask in unison.
“What I mean is,” I started slowly, “when things are topsy-turvy in your world, who do you turn to to help you straighten things out? Who lifts you up when you’re down? Who gives you the answers to your most burning questions?”
“Who is your rock?” one
snarky inquiring mind wanted to know.
“God,” I said flatly. “God is my rock.”
A few days prior to asking the question of these adolescents, I stumbled upon Whitney Houston’s rendition of the Dottie Rambo classic, “I Go To the Rock,” and answered the question for myself. I clapped, stomped and sang myself silly. And then I clicked “replay” and did it all over again.
As I sat, soaked in my righteous reverie, I reminisced on a time when I would have assigned the position of “my rock” to a person–whether that person was a friend, a lover, a parent, a teacher or, even, me. I, like many 14- to 16-year-olds, can recall when I thought that I was my rock all by my damn self.
And at the age of 33, I do believe that my body is a temple in which God, the Solid Rock, dwells as me. But not as the feeble, fearful, ego-driven me; but the strong, loving, forgiving me.
The me who is connected to all through my All in All.
The me who is who she is because I Am That I Am.
The me who = HE.
Indeed, “when I need a shelter, when I need a friend, I go [inward] to the rock.” Amen.
Copyright © 2014-2017 Stephanie Rochelle Redd. All rights reserved.