When I was little, much to my mother’s chagrin, I loved forts. Once every few weeks I would build one in my room, gathering every spare sheet, blanket, and pillow that we owned. Then I ‘d crawl inside and make a little home for myself. All the things I loved lived there with me. My favorite books. My most beautiful dolls. My best stuffed animals. I would leave my fort up for days.
I loved the feeling of safety that my forts afforded, the sense that no one could see me or touch me. I loved that there were walls and a roof and they were so close that I could touch them, make sure they were intact.
Lately God has been revealing something to me. My fort building ways didn’t stop just because I grew up. I still build forts. In fact, I’ve become quite the expert. Only, now, I build them around my heart. And they are made of concrete.
Somewhere along the way, I believed the lie that I am too much to handle, that if people really knew me, they’d run away. Shrieking. If you know me, you have seen this evidenced in my propensity to apologize about everything—like I’m trying to apologize away my very existence—and in my tendency to keep people at arm’s length when it comes to any depth of relationship. Because, I figure, if I don’t let you in, then you can’t hurt the things I care about most. You can’t tear my favorite books or steal my most beautiful dolls.
It’s not such a happy way to live.
And so, in recent weeks, I’ve been working up the nerve to pick up the proverbial sledge hammer that God laid at my feet quite some time ago and start swinging away at those steel reinforced concrete walls. That’s one thing I love about God—He gives us the tools, but He never forces us to use them, only invites.
I have to admit, I’m a little bit terrified—even writing this has been hard. I actually started this particular blog entry weeks ago, I guess as a way to stick my head out of the fort and test the weather. And ya’ll…it’s been a hailstorm ever since. Enough to make me duck back inside for a couple weeks. But I don’t want to stay inside anymore, because while I’m protected from the storms, I also miss the sun.
And so. Here’s to the first swing of the hammer.
