In America, we live within the borders we see on maps. Lines drawn across vast stretches of land define futures, with no regard to circumstance. Where I live, in Northern California, I can drive for a few hours and cross the border into Nevada. There is no wall, no physical border between us. I just hop in my car and drive until I see the “Welcome to Nevada” sign on the side of Interstate 80. On the way in, there is no checkpoint, no guard keeping watch, no gate let down to allow me entry. There is just a friendly welcome sign.
This has not always been true of borders. We read in history of fortresses built within the security of walls ten to thirty feet high, and in some rare cases even reaching fifty feet. Cities were built strategically, taking into consideration resources and security, often built on hills so that the inhabitants had the advantage to see what was coming against them. The walls that surrounded a city were often a sign of power, a warning to any who would oppose those safely residing inside. Beyond keeping enemies out, these historical walls offered a sense of security to the residents. We don’t often value security until it we realize we are without it.
I grew up with no security. Our dwellings were never selected based on safety, and the only resource that was considered was money – could my mother afford the rent on her bartender’s wages? There was no wall built to protect me, no father to assert his power, or to keep me safe from the enemies who saw me as prey. I was a little, blond-haired girl, with a smile that held a thousand secrets. I was vulnerable, breached, like a city with no walls. I never held a welcome sign, but those who wanted to invade, did.
My entire life has been lived with no borders. Not because I didn’t desire to be safe, but because I never learned how to build walls, and I have never allowed anyone to build them for me. The first thirty five years of my life was spent running. You don’t build walls when you’re afraid they will close in on you. When someone would try to put a wall in front of me to protect me, I would exhaust myself climbing over it. I had never been safe enough to take a breath, to look at my surroundings, and determine where I wanted to settle. My greatest desire is security, because I know how valuable it is to be still.
It’s been close to a decade since my pastor preached about cities with no walls. And since the first time I heard the scripture in the book of wisdom, I have desired to become a mason. I’ve built sections of walls, but failure to maintain any great structure will cause it to crumble. So, here I am, forty three, and ready to build again.
He that hath no rule over his own spirit is like a city that is broken down, and without walls.
Proverbs 25:28
A city that was breached was often conquered. Its inhabitants either died or became enslaved by their enemy. That describes the way I have felt most of my life. Breached. Conquered. A slave to my enemies, even when the enemy is me. Paul said it so clearly in his letter to the Romans: “For that which I do I allow not: for what I would, that do I not; but what I hate, that do I.” Rom. 7:15. I have the head knowledge about what I should do, but I lack the rule over my own spirit (aka self-control) to do the things I know to do. Instead, I do the things I hate to do, which leads to shame, which enslaves. Always.
The old saying, Rome wasn’t built in a day seems fitting here. I am not going to bring my mind, my flesh, into subjection in a day. I am going to have to build, brick by brick. And once I build one wall, I cannot just shift my focus and build another wall, I have to maintain the first structure, or it will crumble and leave me vulnerable again.
I don’t know what it is like to live in the safety of walls ten feet high, or what it feels like to allow a watchman to stand guard while I rest. I’ve stopped running, and I know where I want to settle. I am ready to begin to build the permanent structures that will provide me security, and show my enemies the power that I have to protect myself. In my last post Savoring Secrets I talked about the foods I ate in secret. It is those secrets that have kept me bound. My enemy knows how to keep me covered in shame, feeling too defeated to make progress.
Sugar has to be the worst thing I eat. It has no nutritional value, it is highly addictive, and is linked to so many ailments. I know sugar is bad for me, and I know I should not consume it. Honestly, it feels the same as quitting drinking. I knew alcohol was bad for me, but it sure felt enjoyable in the moment. I always regretted it later, never could consume just a little, and rather than providing nutrition for my body, it acted like a poison, wreaking havoc. Just like I could never have just one of anything containing alcohol, I am not capable of just have a little sugar. As much as I want to learn to live in the gray, some boundaries need to be strong, and not flexible. I think this is one of them, for me.
In her song, Piece by Piece, singer Kelly Clarkson says, “But piece by piece he collected me up off the ground, where you abandoned things, yeah piece by piece he filled the holes that you burned in me at six years old.” The first time I remember being breached, I was six years old, so this song has always resonated with me. Yet, that is exactly what my God has done for me. He has picked me up and set my feet on a solid foundation. He has filled the holes left by invaders and those who abandoned their posts. Piece by piece, brick by brick, I find healing. I find hope.
For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.
2 Timothy 1:7
That phrase sound mind means self-control. Not by my will, nor by my strength, but as I lean on the One who pulled me from the wreckage, I am going to build walls to protect myself. I know this isn’t a solo task. In addition to leaning on God, I am going to have to allow those around me to help. I am going to have to become vulnerable enough to desire a watchman, and the thing that scares me more than any of this, I will have to learn to trust him.
Uncommonly Common Mom 