Tear down that wall

"Would you like to see the Berlin Wall?" sister Amy asked after picking me up at the airport.
"In Texas? "
I thought the Berlin wall would be in Berlin, but what do I know?

I had come to Texas to help Amy who had been in the hospital for the better part of a month. The last thing she wanted or needed to do was worry about cleaning and organizing her house. So my job was to help her declutter without causing her more stress than the clutter would. This is much harder than it sounds. The devil you know is sometimes preferable to the devil you wish you didn't know with a trash bag and a mop.

But for the drive home, she and her saintly husband Jim would show me the sights first.

They took me to an enormous hotel. Tucked in a corner with no identifying plaque stood a piece of what did appear to be part of the Berlin Wall. It had large steel girders exposed where the concrete had been hammered away and graffiti covered it.
"Are you sure this is the real Berlin wall?" I asked.
"What else would it be? " asked Jim.
"It looks like an artist rendition of the Berlin Wall. The graffiti doesn't look like regular people did this."

Besides that, there was no plaque or anything that identified this incredible symbol of the yearning of all mankind to be free. Surely there would be something to alert the passerby that the march of tyranny had once been halted and here stood the icon of that human victory. How had this hotel in Dallas scored to receive this limited edition?
"It used to have a plaque, " Amy told me.

Later as we wandered near the Dallas convention Center, I spotted a large abstract sculpture.
"I think that's a Henry Moore sculpture, " I said.
Unlike the Berlin Wall, there was a plaque that verified my hunch.

Later Jim googled the locations of pieces of the Berlin wall and it was indeed in Dallas. There is also a piece in Raleigh, NC. I could understand it being in Washington, DC. But what was it doing in a Dallas hotel and why was it unmarked?

And we were the only people looking at it. I know that winning the Cold war is old news and right now people are crowding thousands deep to see more interesting sights like Justin Bieber. Still, it struck me as odd that it stood there so unassuming and forgotten. No one else had been gaping at the Henry Moore sculpture either but at least if one were to gape, he would know what he was gaping at.

It made me think of all the walls in life, many that should be torn down and maybe would be torn down if we only knew them for what they really were. Like the wall of unbelief that separates us from God. Or the wall of pride that keeps us from saying words that might bring healing to someone we've harbored anger or resentment towards. Or the wall of indifference in the face of others' suffering and misfortune. Or the wall of despair when strength is gone and it just seems easier to give up.

There are other significant walls that came a tumbling down. The walls of Jericho were torn down. It is interesting that they were not demolished by catapults or hammers or wrecking balls. The walls were leveled by faith and obedience to God.

Each person that shatters the wall of unbelief gets a plaque of sorts. His name is carved eternally in the hands of God. We don't see that plaque either - at least not til the Final War is over.

Isaiah 49:16 NIV

See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands;
your walls are ever before me.

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Across the Lake

When my folks owned a house on Little York Lake, one of the prettiest places on earth, I often sketched the opposite shore. It was far enough away that it was hard to see what the people were up to across the lake, but I enjoyed watching for human activity anyway. At night we could see the people having parties, because we could see their bonfires glittering across the water, and voices carried across the darkness.
Sometimes the living rooms were lit and we could even see people moving about in the house, and we would comment on it as though it were some great event.

But the house we most wanted to peer into, we could not. It was surrounded by a huge stone fence that had concrete gargoyles and masks along it. We could see the roof of the house, and it had a giant iron Pegasus on it. This was a family of artists, and from what we could tell, very private people who did not want anyone to see into their windows at night, or whether they had a bonfire on their shore.

So we would sneak over in our boat and see into the less barricaded side of the property. Sometimes we could see into the yard and there were all kinds of statues made up of old junkyard parts, metal clankety elephants, and giraffes, and other funny bizarre creatures dotting the grass.

I would run often on the road that flanked the front of their house hoping the front stone gate would be open and I could peek in. The gate had a giant iron spider across its top expanse. I wanted to see in, but I was also spooked, because the property and the reclusive family reminded me of the Adams family from that old TV show. Still, the one yard that I most wanted to see was closed to me, with all its treasures and delights and obvious quirky display of talent and creative genius. Why have a yard full of such treasure that no one but the artist could see?

If I had such talent, such vision, such beautiful concepts to offer the world, why would I hide them and myself behind impenetrable walls? Whether they were selfish, or frightened, or just strange, I don't know. But I do think there is a lesson in that house of cloistered hermits. If I have a light to brighten the darkness, why would I hide it? Or if I have words to comfort a friend, should I ever withhold it? If any gift of beauty or creativity has been granted me, is it meant for me alone to see? If I have news of God's promise, but I hoard it to myself , I am a concrete wall that others may long to see through, but can't.

Isaiah 49:15-17

¹⁵ "Can a mother forget the baby at her breast
and have no compassion on the child she has borne?
Though she may forget,
I will not forget you!

¹⁶ See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands;
your walls are ever before me.