Old Things

On one of my first spring walks of the year, I came across an old barn. The wood was old and long exposed to the elements; it was so worn that it was hard to tell where one board ended and the next began. I wondered what happened; was it abandoned, or perhaps lost to time, death, or economic change? Walking a little further, the property had a silo in relatively good repair, with a freshly stacked pile of wood off to the side. I knew that something new was being birthed from the old; there was still life on the old farm, although the monuments to the past were scattered on the grounds.

The following days came with thoughts of my own past, present, and future. The old farm held memories of yesterday, both beautiful and broken, and it also bore signs of new life. I wondered, did my exterior show all of these glimmers? Could you feel my past, both the broken and beautiful life I’ve lived? Could others see my hope for a new life, all the while clinging to memories long past? In reality, I knew the answer; unlike the farm, we do not display the weight and wonder that simultaneously showcases all that was, is, and could be.

Although the term living authentically is overused, it does point to a universal desire to both know and be known. To show our broken pieces and reminisce about all that was, but also to have brothers and sisters who can see, encourage, and build into what is to come. The only way this works is if we mutually agree to show the whole metaphorical property, holding nothing back, let the wind and gazes see through the holes that time and pain have created, and in time, together, we can rebuild and repair.