Standing in a fallow cornfield next to a barren dogwood tree, an old abandoned farmhouse in southeastern Colorado appears to buckle under the weight of countless years gone by. The tin roof is falling away in strips and unruly sections, revealing the rot and corrosion eating away at the wooden base. The windows have all been shattered, and are now gaping black holes. Time and the elements have taken a heavy toll on this agricultural dwelling, even though the words, painted on the side of its aging white frame, proclaim otherwise. “Love is alive.” So is faith, it seems, and hope. Together, they meander along and criss-cross the pitted asphalt highways and dirt backroads of middle America in early December. Like destination points on a roadmap, they abide in the souls of average people, some of whom are still feeling the sting of COVID-19 in 2021—but carry on they must. …