Antigua is a beautiful city.
But I’ve realized that most of its beauty is hidden.
Each street is lined with high walls, that you can’t see over. The walls themselves are pretty, bright colors, flower pots in the windows and cool looking doors.
Behind each wall is a mystery. There could be a giant villa behind the wall, with trees and a swimming pool, or there could be a pile of rusted, broken down cars and tin roof huts – you just can’t tell.
As we walk down streets my imagination goes wild with possibilities and if someone is opening a door ahead of us, I speed up to catch a glimpse at what is behind the wall.
Walls keep people in and walls keep people out. Walls hide some of the most beautiful things.
While walking down the streets God has been tugging at my heart, showing me that I am just like Antigua.
I have walls. Sure, they may look pretty, colorful walls, cool doors, even flower pots, but they are walls. I’m guessing you have walls, too.
Just like Antigua, some of my beauty may be visible. My talents and my positive character attributes may show, but some of me is hidden behind walls.
I hide behind walls. I hide things I am ashamed of or embarrassed by, you know, the ugly things. But I also hide things I love about myself – that are special and precious to me because if I let them show, they could be broken and I don’t want to be broken or hurt.
Something about the walls that I have noticed here is that a lot of them are crumbling. Sometimes if you just brush into a wall, some concrete falls off . After all those years of hiding things, they start to crumble.
I want to be a person who lets those walls crumble. When my walls that have hidden things for so many years can’t hide things anymore, I want to let them crumble instead of patching them back up.
Even more, I want to be a person who grabs a sledge hammer and destroys my own walls. Why? Because I want people to see me, to know me. Sure, it may hurt sometimes and it may be hard when we want to hide our mess, but I believe each of us has been made to be known, by God and by others.
How can we do that with walls? How can we let people in if the walls are so high we can’t be seen?
Walls not only keep me in, they keep people out. If I’m not inviting people in – to my good and to my mess – how can they be a part of my story?
I’m choosing to say “Okay God, I’m letting these walls down and therefore I am trusting you to protect me from hurt.” I’m learning what it looks like to let my walls down and be vulnerable with the people around me. To let them into my mess, but also my beauty. Because I want them to cry with me when things hurt and I want them to celebrate with me when things are good.
If you’re not letting your walls crumble and if you’re not inviting people in, how can we play a part in your story?
