One evening last week as Eddy was reading to the kids about Joshua and Jericho I gazed out the window pondering moth and rust. There is this small yellow garage kitty-corner across the alley from us whose shingles are broken, mossy and green. . .
. . .which made me think about these structures we build and fix and patch and reinforce and finally, rebuild, always, always fighting against the forces of nature which try as we might we cannot control. Then we rest for maybe a season and decay sets in, de-struction and reclaimation begins. The structure slowly becomes absorbed by the sands of time, washing away the fingerprints of its maker. We will always fight this decomposition, this falling apart even though our bodies are fitted with this very design. . .
. . .but it doesn’t cause me sorrow or even despair, rather, it brings me hope, for in my life is the true-ness of restoration and resurrection, for life beyond these crumbling borders.
I am a frayed and nibbled survivor in a fallen world, and I am getting along. I am aging and eaten and have done my share of eating too. I am not washed and beautiful, in control of a shining world in which everything fits, but instead am wondering awed about on a splintered wreck I’ve come to care for, whose gnawed trees breathe a delicate air, whose bloodied and scarred creatures are my dearest companions, and whose beauty bats and shines not in its imperfections but overwhelmingly in spite of them… –Annie Dillard