I see an old house sitting out in the middle of nowhere. It once held living souls that deeply breathed in the nuances of life. It opened its doorways to the new experiences of each passing moment, encompassing both the joys and sorrows that shaped one's very existence.
We played make-believe and dared to dream that things were truly possible. It may have been frivolous and shallow.
The innocent wanderings of children, and our seeking refuge from all that went bump in the night. Sitting at our dinner tables and sharing stories of our days.
We struggled with our teenage selves and begged for time to move just a little faster. We wanted it all: to grow up, to be loved, and to be accepted. Crawling out of our warm beds because the school bus would soon roll over the hills. Curling our hair or finding just the right style, and hoping we could just fit in. Saddened when our faces would break out. We all want to belong, and we would envy those who could light up a room when we ourselves were consumed with all that was wrong with the person staring back in the mirror.
There is so much more than the walls that people see.
Relationships can come so easily, and at other times they seem so distant.
Soon enough, we find ourselves building our own homes, which are decorated with our hopes and dreams. The strong winds batter us, and the icy winters of grief nearly destroy its foundation. We long to make our ways right, only to find at times the past creeps in. Thankfully, the flowers of a new season bring us the fragrance of mercy and grace.
As generations come and go, our hair turns grey, our eyes dim, and our bones ache, just like those who walked before us. Will the wisdom of our journeys allow us to forgive and set these ghosts free? Will we remember our youth and extend compassion to those who are younger? Will we allow them to be passionate even in foolishness? The stumbling is a given. The lessons are hard, but needed. Will those who are young not forget that we have been there too? Will they not discount our life experiences and see themselves in our eyes?
We are all like houses, once young and vibrant, and slowly, all that is left will be the bones, the remnants of life.
