There are some things in rural Ontario that simply refuse to disappear. One of them is the weathered wooden fence post.
You know the sort. It leans ever so slightly—not enough to be considered a hazard, but enough to suggest that it has opinions about modern engineering. It has survived forty winters, several ambitious vines, countless squirrels, one determined woodpecker, and at least three generations of farmers who all said, “I really should replace that someday.”
Someday, apparently, never arrived.
Growing up on the farm, fence posts fascinated me. Brand-new ones looked impressive for about three weeks. They stood proudly, perfectly straight, smelling of fresh cedar and optimism. But the older posts—the silver-grey ones, cracked from years of sun and frost—those were the ones I trusted. They had already proven themselves.
Stephen Leacock would probably have observed that Canadians possess an extraordinary affection for objects that have become almost—but not quite—unserviceable. We rarely throw anything away if it still performs at least sixty-three percent of its intended purpose. Somewhere across this country there are garages filled with bent rakes, mysterious jars of nails, and fence posts that have been “saved just in case” since the administration of Lester Pearson.
And yet, there is wisdom in that old fence post.
It has stood through blazing July afternoons and February blizzards. It has watched calves become cows, children become parents, and neighbours become lifelong friends. It has quietly held its place while the world around it changed.
That strikes me as a rather Christian vocation.
St. Paul speaks about standing firm in the faith (1 Corinthians 16:13). He does not say we must always be shiny. He does not insist that faithful people remain free of cracks, scars, or signs of age. He simply urges us to remain steadfast.
There is an enormous difference.
Our culture often celebrates what is newest. New phone. New car. New kitchen. New version of ourselves.
The Kingdom of God, however, has always shown a remarkable appreciation for the faithful old fence posts.
Think of Abraham, already well advanced in years before God finally fulfilled the promise. Think of Sarah laughing at the impossible before discovering that God’s timing rarely consults our calendars. Think of Simeon and Anna, waiting patiently in the Temple long enough to recognize the Christ child when everyone else simply saw another baby.
God seems wonderfully fond of people who have weathered a few seasons.
Perhaps that is because weathering produces something polish never can.
The cracks become places where compassion settles.
The rough edges become gentleness.
The faded colour becomes quiet humility.
Even the slight lean reminds us that none of us stand entirely upright by our own strength.
If you have lived long enough, you already know this.
Life has probably blown against you with stronger winds than you ever expected. There have been disappointments, illnesses, griefs, broken plans, unexpected blessings, surprising friendships, and countless ordinary Tuesdays when faith quietly carried you farther than enthusiasm ever could.
And here you are.
Maybe not quite as smooth as you once were.
Perhaps leaning just a little.
But still standing.
Still holding the line.
Still quietly witnessing to the goodness of God.
That, I suspect, is holiness.
Jesus himself was raised not in a palace but in a carpenter’s workshop, where wood was understood. A carpenter knows that the strongest timber is not always the prettiest. Grain, knots, scars, and weathering all tell the story of strength earned over time.
God has always been rather good at recognizing beauty that the world overlooks.
So today, if you happen to pass an old fence post standing faithfully along a country road, offer it a little nod of appreciation.
It may be preaching a better sermon than most of us.
And if, while looking at it, you happen to recognize a little of yourself…
Then give thanks.
Because by the grace of God, weathered does not mean worn out.
It simply means you have been standing where God planted you for quite some time—and by His mercy, you are still quietly pointing people toward home.
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Companion Prayer
Faithful God,
thank you for standing with us through every season of life. When we feel weathered by time, strengthened by experience, or leaning under life’s burdens, remind us that your grace is always enough. Help us to remain steadfast, rooted in your love, and quietly faithful wherever you have planted us. May our lives point others toward the hope, peace, and home that are found in Christ our Lord.
Amen.