Recently, Benny and I took a leisure weekend trip to Taos, New Mexico, and stopped by an old abandoned church on the way home. We've passed it in a hurry before, never taking the time to stop and pay her a visit. But this time she beckoned us to stop and hear her story.
Driving up the patchy road, her old wooden frame came into focus. Peeling paint, missing steps on the porch, and hollow window frames where once glass filled the empty space provided an "open air" feel.
The space was sacred.
We stepped over missing floor boards and the ones that were present creaked under the weight of our feet.
We were silent as we stood and read the walls. She had a tale to tell.
Travelers had stopped to pour their hearts onto her white walls.
Lovers professed their undying passions for one another.
Religious sentiments were scribbled out with ink and answered by the atheist.
And secrets were brought to the light as visitors felt release upon writing deepest parts on her walls.
We pondered the magnitude of the talking walls. And we questioned what our own walls at home would say.
And we began to listen.
We listened in the living room while we watched our favorite shows. We listened to the guest rooms that had just entertained loved ones. We listened in the kitchen, the dining room and yes, even the bathroom...awkward!
If you listen closely, your walls are talking, too.
HUMOR-IST (is that a word?) I can find and expel (the word expel makes me think of passing gas) humor in most moments of life