My Big Ugly Walls

Estimated reading time: 5 minutes:)

I’m sorry, young man, for my big ugly walls.

My heart is at the center of an impossible fortress, and I can’t seem to let anyone inside.

I’m like a volcano with hot magma just beneath the surface. And when I let people close, people who don’t tread lightly ~ well ~

They slash and cut deep, and lava bubbles up and cools and hardens and builds these big ugly walls higher and higher. And now they are hard, black, and too tall for you to climb over. And all the while my heart grows colder on the other side.

I can’t flirt to save my life because anytime I do it brings me back to the times I did. The times I let myself reach through the cracks in my walls and my fingers got singed. And it hurts to even remember what that felt like.

I’m terrified to even let myself imagine what could be on the other side of those walls because I’m scared if I do, my walls will grow higher. “What will happen if you open wide your heart for hope? For love?” the mocking voices say. “You know what happened last time.”

And let me tell you, sometimes it feels like my heart is made of glass. Because it only takes one person to not hold my heart gently for it to break. Only one person to let it fall and shatter on the ground.

So I’m sorry young man. It took me years to pick up the pieces of that shattered heart. I don’t want it to be broken again.

I’m sorry, good friend, for my big ugly walls.

I wish I could let you inside. But it’s not very comfortable inside these walls, and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I don’t want you to melt.

Every time you knock on my door, offering a hug or a gift or a kind word ~ it makes me rage against these walls I’ve built up around me because I just want them to break. But no matter how hard I pound, they don’t crack. How can a heart be so fragile but the walls it builds so tough?

You see, too many times I’ve let people inside before. And instead of looking around at the feeble house I’ve built with a smile, they stick up their noses and shake their heads. “Not good enough,” they say. And when they leave, they leave forever.

I know I’ve been blessed a few times, because a few times I did let people inside and they wanted to stay. They didn’t melt from my hot lava heart. Because it turned out they had one too.

But now these big ugly walls are so big, letting someone inside takes years. And it feels like maybe I don’t have years with you. Because who would want to stick with me for years?

I’m sorry, myself, for my big ugly walls.

It’s hot and cold and lonely here inside. And it feels like you’ll never be able to share with anyone every part of you.

You’re always treating your personality like a wardrobe, picking out what to wear for the day. Should you dumb yourself down to fit in with the crowd today? Should you put on arrogance to feign mental toughness? Or should you wear a simple outfit without colors so nobody will look at you anymore?

If only you realized God made you a person, not a closet!

I’m sorry but I’m also mad. Because these big ugly walls are your fault. And now it feels like you blow it anytime someone neat comes into your life. Because you don’t trust them one bit. Even though you really want to.

I’m sorry because I’m not strong enough to break down these big ugly walls myself. I’ve tried. I’ve pounded on these walls until my hands bleed and I’m on my knees, but I can’t seem to break them. And I’m sorry about that because I know you just want to be free and beautiful at the same time, but you don’t believe that’s possible.

I’m sorry, myself, for these big ugly walls because I know it feels like a cage. But the hardest part is living with the fact that you built this cage yourself.

And I’m sorry because I know you had to build these walls to survive. But wasn’t there another way? Didn’t you know better?

I’m so sorry, Jesus, for these big ugly walls.

You’re the only one who knows what it’s like on the inside of them. You’re the only one I trust. But I know your heart breaks for these walls because that’s not the way you made me. You made me beautiful. And these walls aren’t beautiful at all.

What’s worse is you set me free. And despite the fact that you made the chains of sin fall off my wrists, I decided to build a prison up around me anyway. I’m sorry for treating your promise like that.

Jesus, I’m so sorry for losing my hope for healing. Because these walls ~ they are too tall and thick and hard for me to break through. So all I have left is to kneel at the foothills and pray.

All I have left is to kneel at the foothills and pray.

And you know how lonely it is inside these walls. You know how desperately I want to let people inside, but how impossible it feels. I’m sorry for inviting the King of light into a place so dark, the Prince of peace into a place so wild, the Shepherd of my soul into a forest so treacherous.

I’m sorry for these big ugly walls. But I don’t know if I’ll ever live without them again.


You built a fortress for your heart and forgot you have a fortress in your Father.

You let fear furnish your home instead of letting Me paint your walls.

You tried to break down your walls without asking Me first.

Beloved, I’m right here. Inside these walls with you.

I’ve seen everything inside. All your shadows and dark places. All your cold corners where you sleep at night. I see you. Every part of you. And I still choose you. Every part of you.

Once, I was surrounded by walls. Walls of stone. And the ones who loved me most couldn’t break them down. The soldiers couldn’t open my tomb alone. My disciples were far too weak.

But I walked out of that tomb anyway.

Beloved, if I can break down the walls of the grave, don’t you think I can break down the walls guarding your heart?

Beloved, these big ugly walls are quite the creation of your imagination because you know I set you free. You’re free. And in my arms you are beautiful and free at the same time.


Wait for me.

I’m not done healing you yet.

There’s no wall I won’t tear down to get to your heart.

I’m not done healing you yet.

Wait for me.


Published by Annabelle Healy

Once the 17-year-old fantasy author who spent most of her time goofing around with her 5 younger siblings, Annabelle Healy is now 20, married, and living in a teeny apartment off in Colorado Springs. Time flies doesn't it? If there's one thing that hasn't changed, it's her love for Jesus and writing - and between her weekly faith blog and novels in-the-works, you can count on fun storytelling (no matter what).

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