Treasures in our Care

"A gem I found in Harrisburg, PA" abandoned.photos 

“I think of myself as more of a caretaker.” This’s how Beau described his role as owner of an old house a few months ago. We were at a small holiday gathering and he was responding to something Shae (who also lives in an old house) had just brought up.

I was headed back to the living room after selecting a couple more yummy items from the array on the table when he said it. I don’t remember what Shae said that led to the comment, but I know that she’s also put a lot of time and energy into fixing up her place.

I don’t remember if I nodded either, but Beau words resonated with me. I've thought of them a number of times since then. Though I’d never described my care for the old houses I’ve owned as stewardship, it was only because I’d never thought of it.

Old houses have character that new ones don’t yet (and may never) have. People have lived and died in them. This can seem kind of morbid when it first comes to you, but it’s true. Babies were made and born – or at least learned to walk – here. Bones were broken as children jumped off beds, or dressers, or the roof.

near Brasschaat, Belgium

Those same children grew up, fell in love, got their hearts broken and poured out their sorrow to parents who could only listen. They married, left, and continued to process, while parents, aunts and uncles grew wiser and older, watching, listening, and eventually dying. Taken in context, death is not the horror we often make it out to be. It’s simply an uncharted (so, anxiety-producing) piece of a life continuum.

Before & After. thisoldhouse.com

The fibers of these old houses are full-to-overflowing with living and praying and loving… rather like the elders whose homes I visit when they can no longer join us at a church building. There are those among us who don’t see value in these treasure-houses of lives, well- or poorly-lived. They’re unwilling to invest in sifting through stories to find the wisdom gained through experiences that were “before my time.” This doesn’t negate the truth that these old ones do offer us treasures – if only we will open ourselves to the possibility that what we might dismiss could be a jewel beyond worth. 

Whenever we stop by for a visit, play checkers with them on a long summer evening, or shovel the snow off their walk, we’re practicing a kind of stewardship. We’re taking care of human resources, doing our bit to nourish their personhood as they have nourished ours or someone else’s through all the years of their living.

Abandoned botanical garden in Germany