The walls were built. 

I was proud of them.

They represented my dreams.

The walls were constructed.

Perhaps wisely, perhaps foolishly. 

Perhaps strong and secure,

perhaps weak and vulnerable.

They were my refuge.

A place that I might call my own.

A place that was from my hopes.

A place that was given to me…

This was my city.

                                                                

Whether by my own hand,

or by the hands of my enemies,

the walls fell.

It may have been quickly.

It may have been swift.

They came crashing down,

they came apart at the seams,

they came and went.

And the city that was once mine,

a place where my children grew

was gone.

                                                                            

It will never be the same again,

and I will grieve. 

I grieve now.

 

I laboured to breathe,

in the aftermath.

The rubble ached.

The rubble cried.

The rubble called out, an

echoing of my own heart

in discordant harmony.

Each stone that once was carefully placed

each stone that supported my life

each stone that was chosen with care

lay strewn in haphazard fashion.

My life taken away by moments

taken away by circumstance

taken away by sin.

 

Today my eyes are downcast.

I walk through the ruins as

my heart breaks.

Time has passed on.

Time has caused seasons to change.

Time has reminded me

that my city still remains…

Perhaps a cupbearer might find favour.

Perhaps a man might have an ear

Perhaps the King might grant

this reconstruction.

In another season, it might stand again,

this

this gift of a city.

Rebuild this place of my dreams.

Rebuild this safe refuge.

Rebuild this symbol of grace,

rebuild these walls…

12:13 pm

9 June 2010

(Nehemiah.  I have always enjoyed that book of the Bible.  I guess because often I feel like Jerusalem in need of being rebuilt.  It is a wonderful reflection of favour, labour, and God’s determination to not leave us as we once were.)

For you An Xin.  My prayers are with you and yours now.

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