An Old Shed and the Usefulness of Seasoned Timber.

A walk in the woods in the Highlands at dusk. There is a poignant beauty in a dilapidated structure that has lasted the seasons, that once was someone's pride and joy, that has given shelter, and to God's smaller creatures may do still, and whose purpose now is to keep standing, and leave the occasional traveller wondering what it was once used for.

But whatever its previous use, the sight of a building on its last legs touches into something deep in us, our need for shelter, the protection of a place, the comfort that is given not only function, but by familiarity. This small shed sits in a forest in the hills, and through decades of winters its wood has weathered as season's timber,  wind, rain and snow each year taking their toll as the wood warps, nails rust, and roof and walls bear increasing weight with less resilience year on year.

Yes the obvious parallel with human ageing, and yes, with my own growing old. For all the bland optimism and feel good memes about 70 being the new 50, and you're only as old as you feel, and age being only number, and the assumptions that we can stay ahead of this the ultimate numbers game, for all that, this shed shows more realism, and seems content with its own mortality, and its place in time. 

There's something about Qoheleth in an image like this, its mixed messages of decay and defiance, a place of shelter still despite the ravages of time, the hopes and purposes of human building which affirms the future and gives meaning to the present. I'm content to have seen this chapel where the prayers were in the building of it, and its value persists beyond usefulness. And for now, that's not a bad way of thinking of ourselves growing old! 

A long time ago, in a galaxy far away, I first read that promise of God, "Even to grey hairs I will carry you…" And those climactic verses of the greatest poem of God's protective intimacy, "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life…." And all of this brought on by a walk in a Highland dusk, and an epiphany from a shoogly shed silently singing, "I'm still standing…"!