Bridges

This is Francka Bridge, a truss bridge just outside Bolivar that has been in use since the early 1900's. Until recently, I'd only been out to this spot in Polk County two or three times in the 14 years I've lived here, and in those instances, I'd merely been passing through; I'd never made it a point to stop. While there are folks who make bridge sightseeing a hobby, I'm certainly not one. Bridges, to me, have always been a means, never an end.

A few years back, some high school students lost control of their vehicle while crossing this bridge (the circumstances are different depending on where you get your story) and basically rendered it unsafe for traffic to cross any longer. You can see a bit of the damage near the center of the picture.

If I understand correctly, there were discussions about fixing the damage, but I'm pretty certain those talks have fizzled out. It's very costly to repair a bridge of this type, and on top of that, it is in an area that sees scarce traffic. Thus, here it sits, just as you see it, its planks old and rotting, some dangling below the surface toward the water below; a barrier--complete with shotgun-peppered sign---erected to make sure no one dares attempt an unwise crossing.

And it occurred to me on a recent trip out to truly observe this spot for the first time that this bridge, which when defined by function can no longer truly be called a bridge, is not unlike a relationship.

We are relational beings; we are designed and hardwired with the desire for connection. We thrive in community, but wither in isolation. Thus, we build relational bridges to span chasms and create ties. For me, initiating this is normally not a problem; it's second nature. Where there is separation, I long to see the gap eliminated through relationship. However, what I often forget is that once established, relationships require maintenance, investment of time and energy. Planks become old and weathered, structures become out of date, birthdays go unremembered, casual indifference replaces the intentionality of newness--time takes its toll. But proper maintenance is rarely, if ever, convenient, so apparent issues don't always get addressed; thus, disrepair sets in and traffic becomes scarce...or nonexistent.

And in the case of both bridges and relationships, accidents happen. Whether by a wreckless teenage joyride or a wreckless word, bridges and relationships can and will be tested. And if not well-kept, neither can survive. Once a poorly-maintained relationship has been gashed by insensitivity, impatience, neglect, or some other form of damaging occurrence, it's easy to just estimate the cost of repair (or even a total rebuild), balk at the heavy price tag of humility and reconciliation, and decide to throw up a barricade and walk away. We may even see fit to fire a few parting shots across the way as we leave, seen or unseen bullet-hole damage remaining as evidence of the parting.

And in this fashion, relationships are no longer relationships, but skeletons.

Likewise, bridges are no longer bridges, but monuments.

 

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