Decay

Dan and I had the privilege of serving in Youngstown, Ohio last week with Group Workcamps. When we picked up our rental car and told the agent where we were headed and why, her response was, "Oh good, they really need help there."

When we got to Youngstown, it was quite a site. This was nothing like being in Groton, Connecticut, site of our last workcamp, where some of the residents' houses were quite nice, and even those living in trailers had huge flat screen TVs with satellite dishes.

No, Youngstown was falling apart. A few decent neighborhoods sprinkled here and there, with average sized houses that were well-kept. But for the most part, Youngstown was comprised of abandoned homes, shot out windows, and ready-to-collapse buildings.

But the thing we noticed as we drove around was how huge some of the houses were. Giant mansions, obviously once the home of very wealthy residents, were now decrepit and boarded up. It was obvious that Youngstown wasn't always the poor city we were seeing. In my mind's eye I could almost visualize it back in its heyday, and it must have been beautiful and abundant.

I don't know the history of Youngstown. I don't know what happened that caused so many houses to be forgotten and abandoned. I don't know how the 4,000 squarefoot mansions were degraded to the homes of raccoons and spiders.

But whatever happened, I doubt anyone intended for it to happen. It probably snuck up as a result of ecomonic troubles when the steel industry lost its oomph. And little by little, without anyone meaning for it to happen, beauty became rot. Wealth became poverty.

It struck me that the same thing could happen to my heart. If I'm not paying attention, rot and decay can sneak up on me, too. The mansion of my heart that I invited Jesus to live in could be declared an unsafe residence with boarded up windows. It is my prayer that my heart never becomes like Youngstown.