continued from page one day ….

continued from page

one day and simply walked away from a life that was no longer sustainable.

Even the weathered bones of an old tobacco barn or smokehouse, leaning but still standing, whisper the testimonies of people who are probably six feet under: “We were here. We worked this land. We survived. Remember us.”

These roadside markers are evidence of dreams pursued, families raised, and lives fully lived on small patches of God’s country. Each remnant represents someone’s everything: their shelter, their security, their hopes for the future.

But as I’ve pondered these silent witnesses to vanished lives, I’ve come to realize that I was only seeing part of the story. Yes, what remains might be a chimney, a foundation slab, a well, or a cluster of flowers. These physical traces matter, and they deserve our notice and respect.

But what truly remains isn’t found in the physical traces at all. What endures— what makes the farmer preserve those trees down the road and what makes me pause in reverence each time I run by— is something that can’t be touched or photographed or reclaimed by time. It’s the memory of the love that once filled the rooms, the laughter that echoed from the doorways, the memory of the hands that planted flowers and drew water and built homes where families could flourish. Long after the last chimney crumbles to the ground and the final daffodil fades, love remains, somewhere, somehow, forever and ever, amen.