I always forget to mind my head when exiting. The door slides closed and I stand on the platform, staring at a brick wall covered in graffiti. I turn around to wave goodbye, only to be greeted by empty tracks. Beyond the line is a field yielding little crop, or so it seems. Distant mountains tell the story of where I came from. Through the thin air of the snowy pass, the track did a loop and took me through the roots of the mountain. There, the caves taught me a great deal and gave me more than I bargained for.

Reentry to the land of the sun was not as blinding as I hoped it would be. Sometimes I would change between train cars, longing for something different, but the view out the window was always the same – a disconnected world I felt miles away from. Leaving a smudge where my forehead pressed against the glass was my signature mark. I’d cross another bridge, often having to pause and burn it down – unlearning yet another teaching. There’s no going back.

I kicked out doubt into the ravine as I passed by, laughing as he fell. When his face hit the water, I was the one smiling. With my critic gone, my mind cleared into a space where I had enough room to confront the rest of myself. It was a lot of hacking and slashing at first, then it was just getting out of the way to let Him work. It is astonishing how much unseen effort goes into complete surrender. With great difficulty, I was taught a new way, the true way. Many times I wasn’t required to do anything, just sit still and be moldable. Resist the urge to scream, letting the world know how sorry for myself I am. But even a drop of self-pity, turns the whole cup bitter.

The Creator of the track and train did more than plan my route and means of travel. He left truths and lovely handwritten letters hanging from the posts outside. I’d open the window and reach out my hand as I sped by. Setting the burlap sack on my lap helped me counterattack the gloom and laugh. An always timely care package with my name on it. Add it to the collection.

The gentle roll of the train and the soft chugging of the engine soon became a tiresome mantra. Threatened with sleep and of missing my stop, the only thing I could do was bang my head against the wall. No matter how perfect the weather, a lonely night in the cold awaited me when the sun dropped below the horizon. Once you feel the rigid, frigid fingers of loneliness touch your bones, you can never quite forget it. Luckily, my bones are on fire. Fueled by deep-fried soul food, my spirit never waivers. It always has enough strength to last the night.

But this night, I’m awakened, like it’s the first time, by silence. The hand of a brisk breeze crawls over my legs and I notice the door is open. I’ve finally stopped moving. Slowly making my way outside, I glance around like it’s some kind of trap. It’s been so long since movement and mechanical noises have ceased their incessant clamor.

Here is where you can find me. Staring blankly at the paint-dripped brick wall – what separates our hearts from heaven. How to break through? I got nothing. Not a vision or a tool with the least bit of precision. The expanse at my back feels like a reservoir. Increase my capacity. Forgive my blasphemy. Thank You, Lord for slicing down anything that comes after me. But this wall. This wall still squares up against me.

No running water tonight, I’ll shower in the starlight of meteorites, desperate for new heights. Wishing the time was right. A bolt of lightning to strike my kite. But all I get is a mosquito bite. Malaria fright. I’m scared alright, and scarred for life.

I start to question if I learned all I could have. I wanted out so terribly bad and now that I am, I don’t know what to do. Suddenly I miss the security of the train cars. I knew what to expect with them. Now I don’t know how I feel and I’m beginning to wonder if I got off on the wrong stop.

I sigh and close my eyes to let His reality take over. On the other side of this wall – this hunger and longing – is everything that’s beyond me. I am given the Spirit-shaped key, but I can’t find the door opening His fullness. My soul quakes and my body trembles. I can fear the unknown or meet it head on. I don’t care if my vision lacks my calling and giftings, it’s not even about me. Jesus is my life now.

And it’s not just us. I brush shoulders with a whole herd of people gathering here, pressing up against the wall. They came here on trains of their own, with their own stories and their own hopes of promises to be fulfilled. We have a lot in common. We are not the lone character in this tale, in fact, the story cannot progress without a little help; it will not advance unless we go together. It’s with the exchange of knowing smiles and clasped hands the first bricks fall. Sorrowful dialogue between friends, breeds forgiveness and repentance. Finding strength in weakness. Open hearts leading to open doors. A steady stream of blended tears make cracks in the mortar. The loving ministry of just being present with one another chips away at the wall. Crying turns to wailing. We pour ourselves out until nothing is left, then we wring out our insides and empty our pockets. This is all we have. This is all we can do. The wall still looms. Wordless groans and red-eyed faces. Until the last cry fades. Help us, we just want to live full.

The sound of fists pounding brick can suddenly be heard from the other side. The wall is thick, but the effort is faithful. There is no delay. A battering ram made from compiled prayers and collected tears bursts through with an audacious shockwave, sending fear flying and hearts bending to worship. Awe fills the space between us as it calls the multitude to the gap in the previously permanent obstruction. A fragrance unknown reaches us and toys playfully with our senses, firing off neurons and creating new connections amounting to a single message screaming inside – This is it!

Jesus stands in the opening of our dismantled rubble. He looks each one of us in our parched eyes, and hydrates us with the deepest intimacy He can give – the fullness of His very own Spirit. Who can contain such a gift? Let the river flow. Speaking the truth of who we are and where we’re going and what we will do along the way, He leads us on a vital pilgrimage. We are only passing through. Each step shakes the earth, meeting the echoes coming from heaven. We are made from more than just our history. His anointing confirms it – set his seal of ownership on us, and put his Spirit in our hearts as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come (2 Corinthians 1:22). On this side of the old brick wall, beyond the barricade, our destiny awaits.