In a counseling session originally meant for my husband, our pastor turned to me and said that I need to allow God to take my walls away ... brick by brick ... even if it feels like they are being chiseled out of my chest.
Ouch.
OK, I freely admit I have walls. BIG ones. I have built them myself - maybe with some help - and I've grown accustomed to them. I rather like them, actually. They make me feel safe and secure - hidden from harm - up high in my tower away from the dragons ... dragons of pain and disappointment and lonliness and distrust.
Then, in the very same conversation, he also told me that he pictures me as a tightly closed rosebud that God wants to see blossom ... to fully open and transform into a beautiful, living person.
Hmmmm. This is much harder to grasp.
I like roses, too, actually more so when they are closed. No, maybe just when they are beginning to open. Full of potential. I have many flowers in my gardens. I even have two very small rose bushes. Neither one of them flourishes. It takes a special gardener to tend the roses. In this, I am not skilled.
Bricks ... and roses.
Apparently my walls aren't protecting me anymore. If they were, wouldn't I be pain-free? Wouldn't I be content and happy and fearless and trusting? Wouldn't I be open to receive love ... and to give it?
And apparently, even though I see my self completley the opposite, God sees me as full of life and beauty.
So, God, maybe it's time. Maybe it's time that I let you use that chisel of yours ... gently, please? ... and take these bricks. (Have you already removed some in the last several days? It didn't hurt too much, I suppose.) And maybe, when the bricks come down, somewhere behind that wall I'll see the rose ... the one that was promised to be blossomed and beautiful and full of life.
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