By Sharen McArthur, editor
NESTLED AMONG pennies, dimes, and quarters in my wallet is a cool, smooth rock. An unusual companion on my life journey, it has lived in my wallet since I was a teenager, a 
tenant that I cannot evict. Quiet and unassuming, it is a part of my life that is nonsensical yet necessary.
The Rock has no name other than its unscientific one, yet I capitalize it because it has been with me for many years. It came to reside in my wallet one weekend when I was in Gatlinburg, Tennessee with my church youth group. After planned activities, we had a few hours to rest and visit tourist shops. I watched a glassblower shape his creations, and a potter spin and mold a large bowl, and then I wandered into a gift shop. Small and packed with knick-knacks, it was a haven for tourists searching for mementos.
After browsing for a while, I saw a large glass fishbowl at the end of the jewelry counter. Inside the bowl were rocks of all colors, shapes, and sizes. The shop’s proprietor said the rocks had been found in cool mountain rivers. A handwritten sign taped to the bowl announced the prices. For fifty cents, I could get several or spend less and get one. My hand rummaged through the rocks, letting them slide through my fingers. They tapped and gently chimed as they fell against each other in their glass house. I chose a small, cream-colored rock, paid and met friends to return to our lodge.
The next morning, as we packed to go home, I placed the Rock inside the coin purse of my billfold. The next year, I bought a new billfold, moving my pictures and driver’s license to their new home. I put the Rock and my change in the coin purse at the top of the wallet. Through the years, I’ve replaced my billfold many times, moving the Rock each time to the new wallet, becoming used to its presence whenever I looked for coins.
Not long ago, while shopping for a birthday present, I saw a small glass bowl on a counter as I paid for my purchase. Inside the bowl were pewter stones in various shapes and sizes, each adorned with a word. Since I began carrying the Rock, I have been to stores that sell stones that supposedly will bring good luck, love or some other virtue to their owner. My Rock came with no guarantee of fame or happiness. The pewter stones, however, offered many good things for their owners, all for $2.50 each.
Emblazoned on the smallest stone was the word God. On the largest stone was Sobriety. Hope resided on a medium-sized stone. In various other sizes, some of the stones carried the words Grace, Joy, Confidence, Discovery, Gratitude and Patience. Etched on the remaining stones were the words Peace, Tears, Laughter, Courage, Trust and Forgiveness.
I examined the pewter stones, but I didn’t buy any. I’d carried my unusual companion through several decades, simply because I wanted to do so, not because it offered some mystical protection. Always there, hidden in the dark recesses of my wallet, it was a traveler through time with me, an inanimate reminder of the past, a witness to the present. And whenever I buy a new wallet, it will move to its new home, a well-loved and unusual companion on my life journey.
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