Sometimes, I look around and realize that my walls are back up. I’m hard again. I am tired of hurting and being insecure, so my addiction to my walls has come raging back, and without realizing, I’ve rebuilt them.

These realizations usually come when, for some reason, the facade cracks for the slightest moment and reveal the greater brokenness within. I must remind myself that the cracks are my heart breaking through the walls. Like a tenacious vine slowly, deftly, obstinately digging and prying at the mortar to reveal itself, my heart will not be stopped. I find that in those initial times, as my heart begins to peak through the crack, it is hurting. All that digging and pressing has left it bruised and tender, so when it finally breaks through, sometimes, it lashes out. Someone or something brushes that tender shoot that has just pressed through against all odds. When that happens, the tender shoot, can become a whip or a thorn.

As the walls are broken more and more, though, my tender, tired, hurting heart doesn’t have to press so hard. It doesn’t have to dig and claw. Slowly the walls are torn down and the fragile bulb, having been hidden away from the sunlight and rain, has been, itself broken. But it’s from the broken seed – the broken bulb – that the new life emerges, and once it’s begun to grow and bloom, it’s when the petals are crushed that the most beautiful scent is released. It’s when I am wounded, that I can bring healing to others and myself, If I can allow myself to be broken.

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