There is just something about being back in West Virginia that gives me such strength. It’s like tapping back in to the heartbeat of who you are and what you want your life to stand for and all at once remembering “Oh yea, there you are. Hey, you’ve must have been right here all along.” There is just something about that muddy water that gets into your veins (I know that’s a country song lyric, but it’s also just the truth). It gets into your veins and it will bleed truth on to the pages of your life if you let it. It will script itself into every cursive letter of your story. It will demand integrity. It will demand hard work. It will demand being who you say you are even when that’s not the easy thing.
I’ve been thinking a lot about bridges lately. About what it is for someone to build them and what it is for someone to burn them. And it’s probably hard not to think about bridges when you spend the better part of a summer Sunday looking up at one like this. This bridge was originally built because at the time, the only road to go was a long and winding one full of twists and treacherous ledges. A road where it’s easier to get stuck or lose your way than it is to move forward. A road where in the seasons of winter and hard times, there seems to be no way forward at all. I know because we’ve gone that road ourselves.
My favorite part about this bridge is that it was built, not just because it moved the builder ahead, but because it made an easier way forward for all who came after. It opened up the way for everyone else to find an easier road ahead too. That’s the kind of builder I want to be. And that’s the kind of landmark and milestone I want my life to stand for.
Today we get to choose what kind of builder we will be.
Build something that matters.