A house for ages

I am feeling my lack of involvement in good work. In my current mood, “good work” means something useful which endures, preferably for generations. I don’t think anything I’ve been involved in will last 100 years. One hundred years isn’t forever. Nothing lasts forever, I acknowledge that. But when you see a house or a barn or a stone wall that has lasted for 100 years, it suggests a care and service for people unknown. Nobody old enough to build can imagine to enjoy his work for 100 years more. Probably people usually imagine that their own children will be appreciating their work. Even this purpose, self-gratifying as it is, shows a longer view than our contemporary consumption and disposal culture. Do houses built today even look as though they are meant to last for 100 years?

Nothing does last forever. Perhaps in aspiring to make “something that will last” I am wishing to raise a tower to heaven. Our days are as grass; whatever purpose we have, it is accomplished in the lifetime of grass in the desert. God doesn’t dwell in the hundred-year-old houses, but shows himself as the breath of life: fleeting in any one place but persisting in every place. Life to the lifeless; hope for the perishing; the work of God hidden within the vain works of man. Could I say that God is not working, even though my work is not “good”?