I’ve seen way more than my fair share of old homesteads all across America. And there have been many times when I performed an old house restoration in my mind as I looked at abandoned structures. That probably comes from my days as a carpenter and handyman.
But these days the only old house restoration I do is in my mind.
One reason is my physicality doesn’t hold up to it anymore. But another reason is that it’s a way to keep my imagination active. And I enjoy the mental restoration of an old house way more than the physical anyway. Because there’s a lot less dust, mold, splinters, and other nuisances.
This morning, I was thinking about a drive Elgielene and I made out in western Colorado. And we passed by an old house sitting in a place that I found very interesting. So I snapped a picture of it. It’s the picture you see in the glasses that go with this post. And when I got home, I wrote a poem about it as I imagined what it might have gone through. And what it might’ve been like, way back when, to live in…
The Old House
The old house talks to no one,
And no one pays attention.
It tells the story of its life…
The sad parts get no mention.
It once had shining windows
And cedar, wooden shingles.
And folks who lived inside its walls
Would sing their Christmas jingles.
Well, now the wind and sunshine
Have withered all the siding.
The floors, inside, have fallen through.
The yard has started sliding.
But still the house is standing.
The fireplace is still sturdy.
Who knows how many years it has?
It might be one or thirty.
No need to think about it.
A lifespan doesn’t matter.
Unless you’re glad for every day,
Then moments only scatter.
We all will be the old house,
If time and tide keep turning.
But keep the faith and hope and love,
And keep the embers burning.
Then you won’t talk to “no one.”
There’s One who always hears you.
And your foundation will withstand,
If you go where He steers you.
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