No one has been around in a while. People pass by it every day on their way to some place else and hardly give it a thought. Even those who were frequent visitors have forgotten how to get here. Occasionally someone will stop by, perhaps hoping someone will be home, and they think about the owner. “I wonder what happened to him?” they ask, “he just up and left.” The weeds are growing up all around, in and out of the old rotting siding. The windows are now bare and dark and stare into loneliness. It has been said that once, all sorts of interesting people would come into the warm and inviting living room, grab a beer, sit by the fire and join into the conversation; or they would just stop by and sit on the porch swing and listen. Now the voices have grown cold and hollow and the only thing you can hear are the echoes of once glorious parties – the laughter, the music, and the joy. And the sadness. It’s all in the building somewhere if you listen hard enough.


You imagine all sorts of exciting things the owner must be doing – he’s traveling the world in search of some great adventure. Or he’s helping those less needy than himself with self-sacrificing love. Or he’s traveling a great and glorious journey of faith, discovering who he is or should be. But then you realize that the building you are standing in the middle of isn’t abandoned, it’s just neglected out of laziness and apathy, and that makes you cry just a little bit; but just a little bit, and then you move onto your next destination where the conversation and friendships still warm your heart. Your footsteps echo on the wood floor and you open the creaky wooden door slowly as if you really don’t want to leave, but it’s cold and drafty in here and there really isn’t much reason to stay. Looking back one more time into the dark room you notice, just maybe, a very slight glowing ember in the fireplace, and you smile. Just maybe…