The soul of the barn called me closer, caught my eye. It didn’t matter that it was tattered and worn, we are all worn and broken one way or another.
I stood there taking in its beauty, wondering about the stories this old barn could tell. Farmer of years gone by and his kids swinging from a rope inside, as they jumped into hay spread out below. I could almost hear the giggles of days before, almost see the farmer throwing down corn in the field.
It’s not about our broken shell, or aging bones – it’s the stories inside the soul that richly bless others.
Onto the next barn I went, for I love the look of these old structures sitting all alone on a plot of land.
These barns hold a rich heritage, yet they never bother a soul. They form the security for the farmer himself, holding his great treasures of livestock, farm tools and such.
The soul of an old building could tell a thousand stories if it could, if only it could.