When I was 6 years old, I lived with my grandmother in Canada. It was there I received one of the best Christmas gifts I've ever had. A rock!
I can remember receiving dolls and games, a manicure set and the usual things little girls covet at Christmas time, but this gift and the giver were both uniquely different.In the small Canadian town of Mission, British Columbia, there lived, above the local drug store, an invalid lady. She was a dear friend of my grandmother, so we visited her two or three times a week. Unable to get out, she enjoyed the company of those who would take the time to come and visit. She took a special liking to me and the feeling was mutually shared. I grew to love this dear old lady and looked forward to my visits to her dimly-lit apartment.
Entrance to her domain was gained by traversing a narrow little alley, which was created by the wall of the drug store on one side and the wall of the hardware store on the other. No more than four feet separated the two.
The trip through this narrow brick canyon and up the rickety stairs was dark and mysterious, but pale in comparison to the mystique awaiting inside. My friend had a number of treasures accumulated over her many previous years of mobility. Every dark corner seemed to hold some intriguing cache.
There was a stereoptic with a whole box full of pictures. The kind that have two pictures that blend, magically, into one, three-dimensional, life-size picture when viewed through the two beveled glass eye-pieces of this marvelous machine. While my grandmother visited, I spent many happy hours trying to fathom this phenomenon.
Greeting you as you entered the apartment, was a massive eight-foot tall china cabinet full of beautifully painted plates and cups and saucers with shimmering gold edges.
In another corner stood an oak cabinet with a rounded glass door, and inside the door, lying on shelves covered with deep blue velvet, was the most glorious array of rocks my six-year-old eyes had ever beheld.
It was from this cabinet several days before Christmas, that my friend asked me to bring her a rather drab spherical stone. Then to my surprise, she handed it to me and said, "Merry Christmas." I can still remember the wave of disappointment that swept over me. From the collection of shining crystals, amethysts, jades and shimmering fool's gold, this had to be the least desirable rock of all. Even the piece of granite, with its flecks of mica and quartz that sparkled in the light, was prettier than this round lumpy rock.
My disappointment must have shown. But all she said was, "My child, beauty is in the eye of the beholder." Then she told me to find a hammer and banished me to the cement steps out back and indicated that I should break it open. The hammer bounced off the rock like rubber for at least the first 50 blows. Then, when frustration was about to take over, the rock split in two, revealing an interior radiance of snowy white crystals, deep purples, vivid greens and tinges of red.
I was filled with wonder and awe at discovering this treasure in this seemingly mundane, hopelessly drab rock. I sat there stunned, my eyes searching out each crack and crevice and devouring its beauty. Truly, beauty was revealed to the eye of this beholder. An inner beauty that had been encased in very ordinary wrappings.
Since that time, I've become somewhat of a geology buff, and geodes have remained my favorite. Geodes come in various sizes. Most are the size of your fist, but some, found in South America, are six-feet in diameter. Theory is, they were formed when a living organism became trapped in mud and debris and over hundreds of years the mud turned chalcedonic, the organism disintegrated and mineral-bearing waters seeped into the pocket left by the organism, forming beautiful crystals.
Geodes epitomize most of us. Flawed on the outside, but secretly radiant within. Just waiting for the right catalyst to open our souls so others might see and enjoy our inner beauty.
I shall always remember that long ago Canadian Christmas and the lesson taught by the use of a simple artifact of the earth. True worth is seldom discovered without some effort or sacrifice on our part, and often remains hidden from those not willing to probe the inner-most depths.
Beauty is, indeed, something that lies deep inside each of us, patiently waiting to be revealed to the eye of the beholder.
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ADDITIONAL INFORMATION
About the author
Belle Weight, or "Corky" as she was known the first 25 years of her life, is a retired schoolteacher and resides in Provo.
She and her husband, Joe, have lived in Brigham City; Ramah, N.M.; and Charleston, in Heber Valley.
While in New Mexico, the Weights worked for the Bureau of Indian Affairs and taught English to Navajo and Zuni children. While there they also purchased a ranch, thinking it to be a good environment to raise their five children.
Weight graduated from BYU and spends her time traveling, reading, writing short stories and performing Cowboy Poetry.
The Weights have served an LDS Church mission and are also active tennis players, having won several mixed doubles tournaments.
She serves on the board of directors of the Utah Valley Symphony Guild and the Comitas Cultural Club.
Their five children and 15 grandchildren are dispersed from Idaho to Florida.