DOUG EICHER
NOTEBOOK
Younger Days2/8/2019 You’d almost miss it if you weren’t looking for it; A simple monument to antiquation, A peaceful respite, Out of place amidst the rippling waves of endless corn fields. Its tall, white steeple rises to snip a piece from the ribbon of deep blue sky and clouds. The peeling, patchwork pattern of the old wooden siding a quiet memorial to days now gone. Rows of granite memories, spread out like chess pieces under the liquid shade of the silent sentinels, Just beyond the sun-stained hues of the Good Shepherd searching for His sheep. The winding trails in the sagging concrete tell of younger days they have seen when worshipers came in carriages with bowler hats and sunbonnets; on sunny, summer Sundays in July just before the world went to war. The gently-sloping shingles recount the days when money was tighter than the strings in the old piano; where “make do” became the only thing you did and, somewhere in Indiana, my grandmother opened her eyes. The dark, yawning doorways of the outhouse out back sketch portraits of a frozen war, as the last of the bunks in Auschwitz were emptied and, somewhere in Alabama, A woman refused to give up her seat. The swirling patterns on the brass knob of the weather-stained door eulogize the days when cars ran on water and MLK had a dream; When walls went up in Germany and there were footprints in the Sea. Of funerals and weddings, Potlucks, and Sunday School; The best and the worst of times. When the old piano sang a bit out of tune with the choir and impatient hands put used chewing gum under the pews. Where folks were buried and born under the water; where young ears heard the Story of Grace for the very first time; Where love was planted with the seeds of tears and laughter, Just like the corn beyond the stained-glass panes. Where the only worshipers now are the red-crested songbirds and the chattering squirrels that dance above the gravestones; Where the only hymns are those whispered on the silver breath of the wind. Where maybe in death, just as in life, This hollow shell of hope is a quiet reminder that where He has been is never really abandoned.
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