Walls

I have walls everywhere.

I've built them up over the years, trying to be strong, trying to conceal what I am from everyone. They are thick, and they are tall. They cover everything inside of me, protecting me. Imprisoning me. I begin to hate these walls in me, that I've built up.

I know I shouldn't have them, but I can't remove them. My hands put them there, and they refuse to tear them down.

Jesus' bloodied hands take away brick after brick; His outstretched arms carry the weight, but as He does it I am there, frantically replacing what He removes. He is gentle, so gentle, but I build on.

I like my walls.

I hate my walls.

I want to be like Jesus. I want to take a sledgehammer to the walls in me, to break them down so that God's grace can pour in, can fill me to bursting so I can extend the overflow of His grace to others.

There are cracks in the walls. God's light and love shine through these cracks, and I peek out from behind my walls and want what's over there. I want Him. I want to be like Him. I want to glorify Him. But I'm afraid.

So I build my walls.

But God is bigger than the walls I've built. His love and grace pours like a waterfall over the top, and hits me from the inside. God is not limited by my sin. He is not confused by my secrets.

He knows them.

He knows me.

And the walls I have built begin to shatter under the pressure of He-loves-me-anyway.

Romans 5:5 "...and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us..."