So we had a quick family getaway.
Took the girls out of school a little early on a Friday—
drove over to Winchester, VA—
cleverly leaving at a time allowing us
to hit rush hour traffic in both Baltimore and Frederick.
Spent the night in Winchester
at the George Washington Hotel.
Went on to Staunton, VA the next day
to hear Ellis Paul’s family concert at the Mockingbird.
He put on a great show,
and Staunton was itself a treat—
finding there, as we did, a bookstore, an ice cream shop,
a music store, an art gallery, a coffee shop,
and a textile studio.
And just a beautiful two days to be in the Shenandoah Valley.
But back to the George Washington Hotel.
Built back in 1924, it has a letter drop.
On each floor, between the two elevators,
a small, transparent duct
running vertically from the ceiling above
down into the floor below
with a slot about shoulder height
in which to insert a letter
so you could watch that letter drop down
or one come down from the floor above on its way down—
to the ground floor
and the large ornate US mail box in which they all land.
I was fascinated
by the technology of a previous age.
Intriguing to me how very obvious it was—
straightforward, simple, functional.
Just to look at it was to know what it was for,
to know what it did,
and to know how it did it.
I considered how that won’t be the case
for so much of our technology today—
dependent, as it is, on power.
More complex (or ambiguous)
compared to the so-called more primitive technology:
(hammers, shovels, hand drills, letter drops)
which even at rest, so obviously look like what they do.
So as God’s instruments,
do we look like what we do?
Or, complex and ambiguous,
do we not look like what we do until we’re doing it?
And, if so, can we diligently seek with discipline
to ever more reflect the image of God—
even at rest?
What would that be like?