There are at least sixty acres behind our house. They don't belong to us, but my son has roamed back there a time or two, and a couple of times, he has brought back to me a shiny rock. I call them "sparklies" and he gets annoyed with me if I ask him to bring me one too much.
When I was a kid I had a rock collection under my bed. What I chose to put in it, I chose for its texture, shape, luminescence, or striated surface. I've taken two semesters of geology and absolutely fell in love. It's such an all-encompassing science. Meteorology, physics, biology, and chemistry are all wrapped up in geology. The sheer scope of years that it address...in the billions...is enough to blow your mind when you actually take the time to stop and consider it.
It's God's diary, really. His record of the earth that He created through His Only Begotten.
So what is it about holding a rock in the palm of your hand? For myself, there is a small sense of wonder. Each one is different and I think on some base level, I can sense that I'm holding a piece of ancient history. Whether it's sparkly...or not.
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