L is for LANE

The old house was only a ruin, three walls partially remaining and rectangular holes once covered by glass. Inside, grass, weeds and cow manure hid mounds of bricks and stones that had fallen from their intended place. It was hard to believe that this rubble had once been a home, full of the busyness of family life, where visitors called regularly and sat talking long into the night. By the time I was born, they were all gone and I only had my dad's stories to paint a picture of what had once been. The house sat above the sharpest corner on the lane, a tiny country road, less than a mile long, which would become part of my life and my memories. During the week, familiar faces travelled to and from their homes by car, bicycle or on foot while others, whose land lay along the edges of the lane, would visit by tractor or occasionally horse and cart. At the weekend, it became the traditional route for worshippers at the local church, which stood on a hill at the far end. And so it was that I got to know almost everyone who travelled along it, as they passed our home, the first or the last house on the lane. Like so many other side roads, it looked after itself and the green strip of grass that had developed along the centre, where wheels rarely sat, was testimony to its state of forgottenness. At one stage, encouraged by the increasing volume of traffic using the road and probably by the complaints received, the local council, in their wisdom, chose to widen it sufficiently to allow cars to pass, but the level of concern for maintaining their handiwork all but disappeared, so that nowadays, the road is again one lane wide with the once new tarmac now lying beneath a grassy verge and the centre masked by a newly formed green band of grass.

But other things have changed. Hedges have been replaced by wooden and concrete fences, stone walls and chestnut trees have disappeared in the interests of progress, orchards have gone, been replanted and have gone again, stables and byres have given way to silos, large cattle houses and apple stores and, across the fences, small fields have been joined together into larger areas. Yet the greatest change has been the people, for almost all have gone so that now, our family lives alone on the lane. Yes, farmers still drive their tractors and increasingly large machinery along its length, the church is still busy and many others have incorporated it into their exercise route but no longer does the postman deliver to McClelland, Davison, Ashton, McKeown, Perry, Simpson, O'Hagan, Carson and the host of ministers who occupied the old manse as the remains of once family dwellings begin to tumble or disappear completely.

I have walked the lane thousands of times, behind prams and buggies, toy tractors and more lately, hearses. I have travelled along it on bicycle, lorry, tractor and car. I have journeyed with friends, met neighbours and travelled alone with my thoughts. I have seen many changes and heard about others but regardless of what has taken place beyond its edge, the lane remains the same, is no shorter or longer than it has ever been and always leads to the same place.

So much may have changed over the years but I am refreshed to know that, 'Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.' The God of Adam, Moses and the New Testament is the God whom I serve and He alone is the way to heaven when He says, 'I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.' I'm enjoying the journey for I know where the road leads!