Aging Out of Usefulness
The rhythmic hum of the Amtrak Capitol N.E. accompanies my thoughts as I journey through an autumnal masterpiece. The changing foliage paints a kaleidoscope of warm hues, while waterways and mountain landscapes stretch on endlessly. In the distance, I glimpse a dairy farm—a serene assembly of black and white cows grazing against the backdrop of timeless greenery.
Suddenly, a vision emerges: a white cottage, its beauty fading like an echo from a forgotten era. As the train draws closer, the details sharpen—the fallen shingles, the rotting wooden door, and the unmistakable signs of abandonment. Once, this cottage must have been alive with purpose, its walls brimming with the hopes and dreams of well-intentioned builders. Someone believed it was a good idea, a beautiful idea, to create a family farmhouse in the embrace of this evergreen sanctuary. And it was.
Now, though, it stands in solemn desolation—a monument to transience. What happened to those well-intentioned plans? Where did the vibrancy, the life, the purpose go? Like a worn page in the story of existence, they have aged out of usefulness, leaving behind the unanswered question of whether renewal was ever part of the plan.
I find myself reflecting on the parallel between this abandoned farmhouse and my own life. Three storage units spread across the United States house my legacy—artworks suspended in various stages of incompletion, fragments of stories waiting to be told. These pieces were created with love, with vision, with intent. Yet now they sit, tucked away, unable to fulfill their purpose.
I wonder: when someone stumbles upon my life's remnants, will they see only disjointed traces, unable to decipher my intentions? Will they judge the worth of what I’ve left behind without understanding the story—the dreams, the struggles, the meaning behind each brushstroke or bead?
In the silence of these musings, a quiet fear surfaces, that time will write a verdict of its own. That one day, the world may declare— “She aged out of her usefulness.”
And yet, perhaps there is a different perspective to hold. Even in aging out, there is beauty in the journey, the intention, and the fingerprints left behind. Perhaps, like the fading cottage, it’s not about continued use, but about the legacy of what was once whole.
We have the profound privilege of serving a merciful God. Yet, there are moments when believing in His promises can feel just out of reach. Jeremiah 29:11 reminds me of His unwavering faithfulness: “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
Even when doubt clouds my vision, I must anchor myself in His Word, trusting what He declares not only about me but about all of us—a hope and a future that extends beyond our understanding.