When Nehemiah rebuilt the walls of Jerusalem I wonder if he tried to emulate something he remembered in the bedtime stories told him by his grandmother as he lay on his bed in Babylon. Or did he breathe a sigh of relief that the sin which had run rampant had been purged and now there was a chance to build something brand new on the framework which remained.
Was he appalled at the sight of the broken stones and weed infested streets empty of the hustle and bustle of the royal city it had once been? Did he weep at the devastated temple and wonder if worship could ever, would ever be restored?
I think, due to the experiences of the last few years, I have a glimmer of what that all may have been like to walk through. Just a smidge, mind you. Not trying to make my story of biblical proportion. That would certainly justify the allegations against me which label me as both melodramatic and overly-emotional.
And I wouldn’t want that!
Still… If you don’t mind… I will wander a bit further with my fledgling analogy.
My walls were broken down, the city breached, the temple of my heart devastated and destroyed so that I bore very little resemblence to whom I had been.
I was led away and as I walked away, closed my eyes, avoided mention and tried to occupy myself in this strange land of not-belonging, I wondered at the faithfulness of my G-d. How could He have allowed this evil to be perpetrated upon my soul? My spirit was wounded and there have been moments in the last year and a half when have I wondered if I would ever recover.
I have been broken.
Can I be rebuilt? And if and when that happens what will I look like?
I know one thing for sure. A lesson hard-won. When I do rebuild, it will be with a sword in one hand and a tool in the other. Much of my personal devastation throughout my life has been a result of being unable, unwilling? to recognize a threat and to protect myself from the encroachment of evil.
The enemy comes with his threefold purpose; to steal, kill and destroy. And he is exceedingly good at it.
Yeshua promised Life. And a more abundant life than I could fathom on my own.
I am blessed. I know this. Deeply.
But living abundantly? Not there yet.
When given the opportunity to go to a ladies Christmas party with a large group of women I knew 6 years ago I found I couldn’t go. I was frightened. Not of them. They are precious and well-intentioned.
No I realized I was, I am, too fragile for the large gathering and the sheer magnitude of social expectation. I still choose my battles very carefully. I keep my circle very small.
The Heidi before was fearless. Bold. Foolhardy. Foolish.
Oh, I don’t know. Words on a page. Dishes in the sink. Laundry in a basket.
I have no excess to offer. I have only the skeleton, the barren streets and foundations of what was once the hustle and bustle of an invested life of “ministry”. It’s good to see the foundations again, the glimmer of the Cornerstone in the issues of my heart. The excess has been burned away, carted away, or rotted away by neglect.
I suppose if the Lord wishes to see me rebuilt He’ll have to be the inspiration and the motivation. Hopefully it won’t take 70 years.