If my heart were a house, it would be filled with windows, all open to reveal the sunlight. There was a time in my life when everything was transparent and I kept nothing hidden. That time has long since passed.
Still, I want to open the windows again. I notice, too, that the front door remains shut and locked. I rarely let anyone in, and I hesitate to venture out of myself and the world I’ve created within me.
The words open wide the doors offer a quiet conviction today. I hear it whispered again and again during the moments when I’d rather retreat into the safety of this interior abode. It’s familiar. It’s comfortable. And I don’t have to risk constant rejection, judgment, or criticism.
But in that, I also do not risk the joy of living or fully loving. Vulnerability beckons me to thrust open the doors to my heart, because only when the threshold of who I am is cast aside can I truly be free to embrace every gift.
I can’t close myself off from the world any longer. It’s been safe, yes, but my heart is caged and laden with sorrow. It longs to grow, to pulse again, to become flesh and not stone. This house I’ve built with the stone walls and secure barriers has become a fortress. They served me well for a time, because they protected my heart from pain and rejection. But now I am reckoning with myself. It’s time to open the gates.
When my heart is exposed, its transparency calls to those around me: “Look at me. Do you see me?” All my life, I’ve wanted to love and be loved, know and be known. As a child, I never faltered in offering all of my heart, but it was trampled and annihilated time and again. Now I find it is painful to take the smallest step towards openness again.
Thrust open the door comes the inner call once more. This time, I invite it to stay with me a while, like an old friend. Yes, I remember what it was like to give without counting the cost, to share without expectation, to simply transfer love to everyone I met.
It hurts to love and lose, but it hurts more to never try at all.
My heart is changing its structure. It’s no longer built on brick and stone. Instead, it is malleable, pliable. It’s more easily crafted and shaped by my Master’s hand. And, after all, I am His alone. It is His hand that is my shelter, my refuge, my strength.
Text (c) 2019 Jeannie Ewing, all rights reserved. Photo by Fadi Xd on Unsplash
I am new to your blog and noticed these inspiring words were written on my birthday. Thank you.
Thank you for speaking the words I sense God asking of me. Open wide the doors and trust me says God to myself.
This is my first time looking at your blog. I did the pray more novena Healing Retreat and got more than you will ever know out of your reflections. Thank you.