Big rocks go in, small pebbles come out, and the weight in your heart is lifted.

Big rocks go in, small pebbles come out, and the weight in your heart is lifted.

Those big rocks on the back mountain, how many years have you been thinking about them? Turned over during foundation work, left over from clearing the mountain, some as big as calves, some as small as millstones, just piled up at the foot of the mountain. You wanted to use them, but couldn't; you wanted to move them, but couldn't. Every time you passed by, you would stop and look, sighing—when will these rocks ever be dealt with?

The weight in your heart is even bigger than the rocks on the back mountain. Where will the paving stones for that bumpy road come from? Where will the filling material for that puddled pit come from? All those unfinished tasks, those unrepaired things, weigh on your heart, becoming like stones. You don't know what to do, you can only let them weigh on you, year after year.

Later, you drove that machine to the back mountain. Big rocks were fed in one by one, with a rumbling sound, and when they came out, they were uniform small pebbles. The large stones were broken, the irregular ones were straightened; those boulders that had troubled you became excellent paving stones and pothole-filling materials. Standing beside the discharge point, watching the small stones fall from the conveyor belt and pile up, a sudden sense of relief washed over you.

The large stones went in, the small stones came out. The weight on your heart also lifted. Those worries that had weighed on your mind for years, those unfinished tasks, finally had a place to rest. The road was paved, the potholes filled, the work was done. Standing on the newly paved road, stepping on the small stones, you felt a deep sense of peace.

The large stones went in, the small stones came out, and the weight on your heart also lifted. From today onward, there are no more stones on the back mountain, and no more stones in your heart.