The Word Is Not Imprisoned

I have a guest post to share with you, today. It’s from my daughter, Lydia. She has written for me before. She should be writing more of these for us. I hope this will encourage you as much as it did me.

I’ve been thinking about Psalm 127— “unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain.” This is the first time I’ve read that verse and thought of the house as my heart. Only if the Lord is building up my heart will my labor be fruitful. If I take the analogy further and think of myself as occupying the heart and letting others in, it helps me reflect on past relationships in my life. I feel like I let people in pretty easily. Some of those people have brought gifts to the home. Some have put up paintings and played music and baked in the kitchen and read books. Some have stayed longer than others. Many have affirmed certain features of the house, and over time those features have become more emphasized and the less beautiful features have been painted over or removed and renovated. Like any house, it slowly changes over time even through the simple process of maintenance. 

Of course, storms come and the house may fracture. Areas of the house that you didn’t know were weak become visible under heavy rainfall and storm. You then fortify those weaknesses for the next storm, only to find that no two storms are the same. Some storms come in the form of people. Some people enter the house restless, broken, and hurting. They make themselves at home and take every refreshment and hospitable thing you offer them, even though they brought you no gift. They take down your favorite paintings and rearrange the furniture. They never seem comfortable even though they’ve made themselves at home. Some of the changes they make are so subtle that you forget how it used to be. You start asking yourself: was that chair always there? When did I move it? 

And then some of them leave with a fury—ripping things off the walls, upending furniture, shattering the windows. You quickly lock the door behind them, only to turn and see the mess they’ve left behind. It’s hard to remember how things were before they came and started changing things. Even if you put everything back in place to the best of you memory, it will never quite be the same. The pantry is drained and the paintings are crooked in the wake of such guests. The door remains locked and you begin to ask yourself: was I wrong to invite them in? Should I have asked them to leave sooner? Question after question, fear after fear. Looking anxiously out the window, jumping at every floorboard creak…Only to realize that you are not the owner of the house. 

You possess no power to protect its walls. Every person that has passed through the doors has been providentially purposed to do so. God himself is both the builder and its keeper. He is constantly sanctifying and, if you will— renovating, repainting, rebuilding. Sending both storms and saints alike to sanctify its walls. He spares no expense, He withholds no mercy. “Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain.” So, we continue to build the house, trusting the hand of the ultimate builder over our work: the God of all restoration. Yes, those storms of people might leave the house in such a way that it will never be the same. But in the hands of the Master, it will be far better for it. 

lydia snider

november 29, 2023