There is a house going up at the top of the road. I pass it every day, and enjoy seeing the progress. Sometimes it looks like nothing is happening, especially on rainy days. Other weeks there are men on the roof pounding nails. Although I guess these days it is more accurate to say they shoot nails.
There is an orange fence around it, with a sign stating that this is a construction zone, and warning me not to trespass. The simple barrier reminds me that this home is not a collective possession, nor do I get a say in the colors of paint. It isn't a brick wall, which would more emphatically keep me out. That would take away from resources that are better saved for insulation against the cold.
It feels like a metaphor. In truth, I am privy to signs of construction in people around me. Or the lack of visible evidence. Such changes do peek out despite our best efforts to keep our internal work zones under wraps. Yet, spiritual growth is not a democracy, and I have no vote when it comes to the decisions people make about their personal relationship with God.
Probably they will have dry spells, or should I say wet spells when it feels too laborious to make headway. But some things are worth the wait.
Love,
