Take the Bricks

Why am I like this? Created this way? That I build up walls at the slightest threat, holding onto the regret of trusting and being let down before. I don’t want to keep score; I don’t want to be one who pushes away anymore.

It’s exhausting. Alienating. Not satisfying.

I don’t know what this fear is rooted in, what are its origins. I never had an experience that could justify it in the way that others do, no excuse for my behavior, no reason I should have to work through to get to healing.

As soon as a threat is detected, I get out the bricks, carefully constructing a wall, regardless of whether the threat ever hits. I choose past hurts as my mortar, fears of the future woven into each brick of hesitation. And before I even realize it, I’ve stacked them up high, a height at which I feel safe behind.

But today, it’s not the same. Today I’m playing a different game with these walls. As soon as I reach for my object of choice for construction, someone extends their arms and takes the brick from my itching hands seeking to avoid all harm. The one who walks beside me sees the me that others may not see. He knows this tendency I have to push away, to build a hedge of self-protection in the presence of anything that may crush hopes. Crushing them myself before they are built is my way to cope.

Yet the patience and grace that walks at my side disarms me and leaves my defenses open wide. With a promise of safety with him by my side, I still recognize that he is not the one who can truly guard with an unfailing love that always provides.

But this man who walks with me hand in hand is an imperfect picture of what grace can accomplish. The way grace can heal. This man’s efforts and determination to break down my walls and gently show me the great freedom out there reflect the One who can heal and bring us both into a truly beautiful deep freedom. He is our shelter. He is our refuge. He is the one we run to in times of trouble. My defense is no longer the bricks of the fear of the future, it is his strong shelter. My offense is his gospel, the truth of what he’s done, the person he’s making me into and the redemption from anything that may come.