House of Mirrors · The Stone Pillars
Whose Mirror Is It?!
One dog video. Six little words. Two mirrors.
The Story
It started with a missing dog.
It started with a missing dog.
Well, not exactly missing.
Sassy was comfortably hiding on the bed while Jenny searched for her.
Naturally, Sassy considered this excellent entertainment.
Jenny shared the video.
And someone noticed something.
Not Sassy.
Not her magnificent hiding skills.
The stone pillars.
A stranger left a comment:
“and who paid for all of that”
Well, THAT was an interesting question.
Jenny's brain immediately began preparing a presentation.
There would be background information. Historical context. Possibly supporting documentation.
Because Jenny knew exactly who paid for those stone pillars.
She and her husband did.
And she knew what it had taken to get there.
When they first met, they had almost nothing.
Her husband had been living on his own since he was seventeen, sleeping on the floor before he could afford much furniture.
Their early years featured Campbell's soup and macaroni and cheese made with water because they couldn't afford milk.
They had one aluminum pot and an assortment of mismatched silverware they'd gotten for free.
Fine dining, obviously.
They rode the bus for years because they couldn't afford a car.
And proper winter boots?
In Minnesota?
Apparently those were luxury items.
They worked. They saved. They paid for their own schooling. They made choices about what they could afford and what would have to wait.
Vacations, purchases, little luxuries—every choice meant choosing something else not to do.
They lived in a tiny house for nineteen years.
So yes, Jenny knew what it took to pay for stone pillars.
She had receipts. Metaphorical receipts, anyway. Possibly enough for a three-ring binder.
But then she remembered something.
They hadn't actually gone looking for stone pillars.
They'd gone looking for a better place for Jedi.
Their dog was struggling with their busy neighborhood, and they wanted somewhere he could have more space and peace.
Somehow, they found a beautiful house that had been sitting on the market for more than two years.
They made an offer that stretched their comfort zone.
The sellers accepted.
Hooray!
Except apparently the universe had scheduled a few additional obstacles.
The sale of their old house fell through.
Then again.
And again.
Three times.
For a while, Jenny and her husband wondered whether they'd ever get there.
Financial uncertainty was an old acquaintance. Immediate family members had experienced strikes and layoffs throughout Jenny's life. She knew the fear of not knowing when the next paycheck would arrive.
Eventually, they moved.
They had the keys.
They had the house.
They had the stone pillars.
There was just one little problem.
Jenny didn't quite feel like she belonged there.
For years, she felt almost like an alien in her own home.
She loved the place, but loving it felt frightening.
What if they lost it?
What if something happened?
What if she got too comfortable?
It took years of reflection before Jenny began allowing herself to appreciate the home she already lived in.
Now she and her husband still look around and say, “I can't believe we get to live here.”
And they mean it.
Jenny hasn't forgotten that financial security can change. Jobs can disappear. Life can turn on a dime. She knows that, not as a theory, but from experience.
For a long time, knowing it could all change made enjoying the present feel almost dangerous. What if getting comfortable meant she'd be caught off guard?
Eventually she began asking herself another question: How was waiting for something bad to happen helping her today?
She didn't have to pretend the future was guaranteed. She could hold two truths at once: Life might change tomorrow. And today, she gets to enjoy living here.
There was something else Jenny remembered.
She'd found joy in their little house, too. Nineteen years of love, laughter, dogs, adventures, and ordinary days that mattered.
The bigger house hadn't invented those things. And the stone pillars couldn't guarantee them.
She loved this home and hoped to enjoy it for many years. If life changed and they lost it, she knew it would hurt. They might have to work extra jobs, make difficult choices, and find a different way forward.
But Jenny remembered the life they'd made before the pillars. She could grieve what changed and still trust that, in time, she might discover joy again.
She didn't need the pillars to have a beautiful life. They were a wonderful cherry on top.
That doesn't mean the old fear never visits. Perhaps that's why six words about stone pillars could still stir something so familiar.
The Two Mirrors
Whose mirror is it?!
Six little words about stone pillars.
And Jenny's mind had traveled through decades of memories, Campbell's soup, macaroni and cheese made with water, years of riding the bus, Minnesota winters without proper boots, and the extraordinary adventure that began with Jedi.
She'd nearly assembled an entire financial presentation.
Possibly with charts.
Well, wasn't THAT interesting?
Because somewhere along the way, those six words had become a Rock for Jenny.
Not the comment itself, but what she'd experienced when she read it.
The sudden feeling that she needed to explain herself. To justify the beautiful home she lived in. To prove that she and her husband had worked and sacrificed for those stone pillars.
And almost immediately, she'd started trying to figure out what was happening in the stranger's mirror.
Were they judging her?
Were they questioning what she deserved?
Did they think she hadn't earned what she had?
Whoa, whoa, whoa.
What did Jenny actually know?
Six words.
That was it.
The stranger might have been curious. They might have been joking. They might have meant something entirely different.
Jenny couldn't see inside their mirror.
But she could see what was happening in hers.
And that was when things got REALLY interesting.
Because her own mirror held years of financial uncertainty, memories of sacrifice, the frightening journey to their home, and the long process of learning to feel comfortable enjoying it.
Those experiences were real.
The feelings they'd stirred were real.
But they didn't tell Jenny what the stranger was thinking.
OH! WHOSE MIRROR IS IT?!
There were two mirrors in this adventure.
One belonged to someone whose story Jenny didn't know.
The other belonged to Jenny, who had just discovered another little piece of her own.
And all of this started because Sassy decided to hide on a bed.
Honestly, that dog.
A Little Window Into Someone Else's Movie
What made that detail the one we noticed?
A video can be a tiny invitation into somebody else's day. In Jenny's video, Sassy was hiding on the bed. One viewer might be laughing at the dog. Another might admire the stonework. Someone else might wonder about the home behind it.
None of those glimpses tells us the whole story of the person living there. And none tells us what the viewer meant, either.
Jenny noticed something about herself: when she sees a little piece of another person's life, she often looks for the human story, a point of connection, or something to appreciate. That is the view she tends to bring. Other people bring their own views, too.
Books, videos, photos, and little things people send each other can all open windows into someone else's world. We can try on a possibility without mistaking it for everything we know about that person.
And sometimes a detail catches us so strongly that we want to comment immediately. That can be a curious moment to turn the mirror toward ourselves: Why did that stand out to me? What story started playing? What do I actually know? What might I be bringing from my own experience?
There is no need to put the commenter on trial. Jenny doesn't know what their six words meant. The interesting discovery is that a tiny glimpse of someone else's movie can reveal something about the movie playing in our own heads.
Through Your Lens of Curiosity
What might the mirror reveal?
Has an ordinary moment ever stirred a Rock of your own?
What did you actually know about the other person's intentions?
Did you find yourself trying to figure out what was happening in their mirror?
And what might you discover if you turned toward your own reflection instead?
A Little Borrowed Belief
There may be another possibility waiting nearby.
Sometimes a Rock appears in the most unexpected places.
It might begin with a comment, a conversation, or something that seems quite small.
We may find ourselves wondering what someone else meant, thought, or intended.
And perhaps there's another possibility waiting nearby.
We can become curious about what the experience stirred in us.
Our feelings and memories can be real, even when we don't know the other person's story.
We don't have to solve their mirror to explore our own.
And sometimes that little shift in perspective opens a door to clarity, understanding, or a bit of peace.
Whose mirror is it?