Monday Musings: Bricks

Bricks mean many things to me. They remind me of buildings that were in my surrounding neighborhood  in my early childhood—the ones I used to walk past on the way to the park with my parents. Brick buildings always gave me a sense of mystery and good fortune somehow.

Brick walls were strong and seemed to embody determination and purpose. It wasn’t until I was much older that bricks began to symbolize anything but positive—even comforting—virtues.

As I went through high school and faced relationship challenges, time management struggles, and real world decisions, bricks became a burden. My perspective changed from one of awe that marveled at a structure to one of harsh realism—the creations I had once respected for their dependable strength now looked as if they would entail a lot of work, perhaps too much work.

A shadow had been cast upon the architecture. And a nagging unbelief was slowly creeping in.

I got married and a few years later became a mother. I had learned how to carry some heavy loads, having earned both a Bachelor’s and Master’s Degree. But parenting was a different ballgame altogether. I was to build a person—to raise her up in a way that reflected all that I hoped and envisioned for her. To encourage her, not tear her down. It was as if I had only been given certain bricks to do this job—and perhaps some of them were missing.

As I reached my mid-twenties, I added another child (requiring some different bricks) and faced family crises, interviews, jobs, and being forced to develop unfamiliar skills, I began to add new, seemingly necessary bricks to the collection: Worry, Doubt, Guilt, Anger, Regret, Uncertainty.

In my thirties, I felt that maybe I was finally becoming “a real adult.” We had one more child, and I was going to raise this one better—be a more “perfect” mom. I quickly learned that this was not going to be possible, and another brick I’d been using sporadically became an even bigger one—Depression. This was followed by Anxiety, Turmoil, and Embarrassment. Not because of my children, but because of my seeming inadequacy to be a good parent and deal with the rest of life at the same time.

My bricks were becoming a wall. I kind of knew that, but I didn’t realize the wall was trapping me. The bricks I had that were good—Nurturance, Compassion, Creativity, Laughter—were getting obscured by all the others. By the time I was thirty-eight, there were thirty-five identifiable “bricks” that kept me from venturing too far outside my self-built wall.

God reached down and shook up my bricks from time to time over the years of stockpiling. He was trying to show me—to get me to see that at any time I could knock those bricks down. It wasn’t until I allowed Him to show me who I really was that I understood the bricks were all built on lies. Lies about my identity. Lies about my capabilities. Lies about my future. Lies.

I knew who the father of lies was, but I had unfortunately agreed with him in so many key areas that I’d added strength to the bricks, keeping them erected between the Father and me. What I didn’t realize was that they had not only become a wall but weapons in the enemy’s arsenal—against me. This gigantic wall was keeping me from truly living, from walking in freedom.

I remember the day I realized—when God revealed the sheer magnitude of my wall. I remember thinking ‘How on earth did it get so big?!’

As you’re reading, you may be identifying bricks of your own—bricks that keep you from using your talents and giftings, as mine did me. Bricks like Not Good Enough, Rejection, Shame. What I didn’t realize for the longest time was that these bricks were not ever meant to be my building materials. I had believed the lie that they were, and therefore held onto them.  I didn’t know that I could knock them down—remove them—anytime I wanted. All I had to do was believe the truth.

The truth that I am the Lord’s workmanship, His child, precious to Him—that my name is written on the palm of His hand. That He chose where I would live and the things I would accomplish—that He had, in fact, equipped me to do these good works. That He had a destiny for me to fulfill and believed in me that I could do it.

Every once in a while, I want to stack those bricks back up. Sometimes it seems easier than pressing through the truth and doing the hard work of Forgiveness, Faith, Reconciliation, and more. Sometimes it seems easier than hanging onto dreams. But that is all part of the big lie—that we were made for nothing more; that this is all there is; that the things we may have thought we could do are just that—dreams. Never meant to be fulfilled—never possible to be fulfilled.

Just yesterday the enemy was telling me exactly that. Trying to convince me that I should just bag the whole writing idea because it will never work out. Discouragement and Hopelessness are some of his favorite bricks to throw. I grabbed hold of the Discouragement one and held it for a while. And I kept staring at the Hopelessness one. The problem is—I do know who I am, and those bricks don’t fit with what I am building.

I was chosen to be a good wife—even an excellent one. My children were specifically crafted by God as the ones I would parent and love. And the purposes God has for the gifts He gave me are beyond what even I can imagine. I was not made for the shadows, as the enemy would like me to believe—I was made to walk in the light.

So I will embrace these bricks and use them to build that future God has for me—to fulfill His plans to prosper me; to give me the future I’ve hoped for: Love, Joy, Purpose, Peace, A Voice.

But not just for me. No, my freedom is not just about me. By God’s incredible design, it always affects many people—and even for generations to come. No wonder the enemy of our souls works so hard to keep us behind a wall—because if we ever grasp what God is saying, we just might be unstoppable.

And that is the brick the Lord desires for me to hold onto right now. He has given me this brick to use in marriage; to use in parenting; to use in the face of adversity; to use in fulfilling my dreams—which are His dreams. The brick is called Unstoppable.

When God the Father hands you a brick, it’s to build something real and something worth pursuing. But you have to take it from His hand—you have to receive it. If you continue to say “That’s not for me—I can’t possibly use that,” you’re rejecting His bricks for the wrong kind, the kind that will make you easy to stop—in fact, easy to keep frozen in place.

Which bricks will you choose?