INITIALLY, I see what everyone sees at first glance … asymmetrical rust on a metal roof ... an abandoned structure becoming increasingly dilapidated from years of non-use or neglect ... a Mater-like old truck with character but nonetheless relegated to a motor-yard of collectible-Maters.
In particular the truck museum (a generous term) seems to be the final resting place of relics from a bygone era. This one truck sits amongst an array of vehicles that have served their initial and possibly heroic purposes. Now their probable “best and highest use” is to pose for photographs like old veterans hoping to be remembered by a younger generation for their contribution to peace.
And then … as I pause and reflect on each photograph, I see a story. A very personal story. Maybe even a group of personal stories. As I delve further into those stories, I see choices. Choices that, possibly, came in a swoop and fell like a stream of unfortunate toppling dominoes.
Then a vastly different scenario presents itself. The possibility of a string of unrelated choices comes to the forefront. Despite the scenario, and how the conclusions arrived, ultimately, the same scenarios play out.
Personal choices —
Personal choices were made that brought about the condition of the truck and building we see before us today. Many years ago someone had a dream. A dream to perhaps have cattle, a small ranch? Live the American Dream in the Colorado Rockies? A dream big enough to support a family and raise children to believe In God We Trust and in The Land of the Free and Home of the Brave?
Maybe even big enough to pass on the land legacy and belief tradition to their own kids? But, somewhere along the line, the dream was challenged. Lost. Or purposely ignored. And the barn is now as we see it. Was the dream fought for and the bank had no mercy and the dream lay fallow for a time? Were the children and grandchildren off to the big city to be chemists and engineers never to return, to the great pride and quiet sadness of the Dreamers at the end of a dream era?
Many years ago others had a separate plan. The star on the truck’s hood indicates the dream may have been involved in Protecting and Serving. Perhaps. Whether service was voluntary or conscripted, it is certain its protagonists realized new generations were following after them. They hoped their work made a difference. This vehicle helped them fulfil those tasks. Did it carry officers? Important dispatches? Wounded? Maybe all of those things. But those earlier wars are ended. The vehicle obviously sustained battle wounds running its errands. It served its purpose. Despite its initial usefulness, at some point a mechanic decided it was not worth the time, money or energy to fix. It somehow ended up in Iowa (with a farmer, perhaps) and eventually in southwestern Colorado in a random collection of armed forces vehicles. Displayed with sloppy pride, beside the road. A permanent, motley armed forces vehicle display. Pride of a bygone era, someone decided it had value in memories and history, but not enough import to restore it to par with its original glory.
Considerations —
Have I gone too far in romanticizing or sensationalizing the foregoing scenarios? Maybe. But, maybe not. Possibly my musings are quite close to the truth? Regardless, it is useful conjecture, which leads to outcomes that cannot be escaped ... conclusions that point us all to an inevitable and useful lesson ... if we pay attention.
Possibilities —
Are you paying attention, now?
These structures played a integral role or served a vital purpose at some point in their life cycle and that of their owners. What will be next for them, and for their owners? My imagination has brought us to this point, where there are three possibilities to choose from:
The second law of thermodynamics is allowed to prevail, so chaos and disintegration ensue.
New life, and new purpose is delivered through creative restoration.
New life, and new purpose is delivered by tearing down and replacing (perhaps recycling some of the materials, perhaps not).
Someone made those choices in these instances. Someone will make those choices, again.
I will make those choices, for me.
You will make those choices, for you.
The same choice is always in front of us, in every season of life:
Ignore.
Renew.
Replace.
What will you choose, in your faith, your life, your relationships, your career, your possessions, your habits, your thoughts, your outcomes? (And … I wonder what might be in store for the old workhorse below, that has seen lots of duty somewhere? Clearly, it is owned by someone with a sense of patriotism. I will keep my eye on that space.) KSB
