Let me tell you about my wall. It isn’t anything grand; just a couple dozen bricks stacked together. If I’m being honest, there are some cracks and some dusty spots that could use quite a bit of attention. But still it stands. It’s seen many quakes and storms in its time, but I’ve been promised that if the foundation is right, it will be able to withstand whatever comes at it. So far that has proven to be true.
I’ve recently seen so many people that I love just give up on their own walls and walk away; some have even physically taken theirs down, brick by brick. I placed some of my earliest bricks with these people, so to say it’s been confusing and heartbreaking to watch would be an understatement.
And so I recently visited this wall of mine. I took my time, running my fingers over the rough edges of the bricks as I went. For a second, maybe two, I considered taking it all down. It would be pretty simple. Maybe it would remove so many burdens and questions… I’ve seen many do it, and they all seem fine – happy even.
I stopped at a particularly dusty part of my wall and picked up a brick to give it a clean. As I brushed away cobwebs, I began to remember. I saw a blonde little girl. She’s standing in her front yard on flawless, freshly cut grass holding a single red rose. It’s spring where and when she is. She’s smiling for a picture, not a blemish or stain to be found on her new white dress, or on her newly born soul. *click* Mom and Dad were so happy – but the little girl didn’t completely understand why. She had received multiple gifts that day from friends and family but was told that the most special gift was coming tomorrow. Tomorrow came and the little girl sat quietly on a simple chair – her toes barley skimmed the carpeted floor as she swung her legs back and forth. She was nervous, but that feeling left as quickly as it came. Men she looked up to all her life joined her father in a powerful circle around her. Hands full of love and faith were placed on her head. A prayer was muttered. The faces are fuzzy now and the words are distant mumbles, but the feeling… that feeling that was so familiar and reassuring then is even still now. And though it’s a memory, the voice is just as clear. “This is right,” the voice says. “This is how I can be with you always.” It is soft and kind; I would have missed it if I wasn’t listening, then and now. It’s that voice that compels me to put the brick back in its place.
I picked up a second brick. The little girl is not so little anymore in this one. She is 19 and in the middle of the South Pacific. I am much more familiar with this girl – her feelings, her interests, her struggles. She looks much more like me too. She is in an old quiet apartment, but it isn’t empty; the other girls are upstairs sleeping. The clock reads about 2am and the girl is on her knees, her forehead pressed against the floor. She is crying. Her fists are clenched and turning whiter by the second. She seems desperate. Broken. Her thoughts are loud enough for me to hear: Why am I here? Why on earth did I leave my family and school and friends to be here, to feel this? Who, in their right mind, would literally volunteer for such a lonely, excruciating, heavy experience? The burdened girl looks up through wet, exhausted eyes that go directly to the small painting taped to the wall across from her of a man with a gentle demeanor and a patient face. He holds a small, white lamb in his arms. She knows him. Her head turns upward, her breaths and tears slow. A sad yet understanding smile comes as she dries her face, takes a long breath, and whispers, looking again at the painting, “You would.” A familiar voice, one she became first acquainted with back when she was 8 and had grown to love ever since, spoke to her heart, “You are here because you know me. You are here because you know that I know you too. I would volunteer for this – I did volunteer for this. I will do this with you.” In that moment, that humid living room in the middle of the ocean is her Gethsemane. There is still so much she doesn’t understand and so much she doesn’t want to endure, but it all now seems bearable, even worth it. I put the brick back where it had been firmly placed years ago. It somehow seemed to fit a little better this time.
Some bricks came while on my knees, others while reading a little blue book. Some came while in stunning white buildings that reach for the heavens, others while just in my car. Some bricks are overwhelming. Some are very underwhelming. Some are cemented firmly into place, others are still cement pending. And while my wall is nothing grand or towering, it is mine. Each brick, mine. The memories, mine. The responsibility of remembering, mine.
Maybe taking it down would not be so simple after all.
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