It is mine to guard. A single stretch of wall, separated from other sections by a guard tower on each end, clearly marking the boundaries of what my responsibility is. The wall is tall, and had grown taller each day, firmly cemented together by the Word I love so much. At times the growth is large, block upon block holding each other up, at other times it takes weeks for one square to be placed. Currently, it felt like there was no growth at all.
I was not the only one with a section of wall to guard. All throughout my relationships, each believer has a wall they walk upon, guarding as they guard their lives. I had, by what I said and did, helped some of those walls to place bricks, or had even spoken a steadying word written in my own wall as theirs started shaking. Therefore I loved their portions of the wall, loved seeing the house being built section by section. They had helped to build mine as well.
But it had been a while. Guarding had not been a peace-time sentry's duty for a long time, for darkness had enclosed my wall. I could no longer see the sun or stars. The knowledge I had of others now came from distant sounds that I strained to hear, and, as I said, there had been no visible building on my own wall in a long time. There was darkness above, behind, before, to all sides, and the only certain thing was the wall beneath my feet, for it was founded on the Word. I had been losing hope, for I could see nothing, hope for nothing, and my own wall had started to crack from the strain. Earthquakes, loneliness, cold, and most of all, the dark, made it hard to pace the wall, hard to keep my heart and mind on the light I tried to believe existed beyond the darkness around my wall. All I could see or feel was the weight of my duty against a darkness I could not banish. I could not stop, for I had been trained and retrained and trained again in the course of my duty, since a young child, but the duty was joyless and heavy, and I knew that weight in itself was wrong, for written in the Word was that the yoke I had was easy, the burden light. But I did not know how to banish the thief of joy.
I faced outward. I was too cold to pace the wall any longer, but I could stand and resist. I looked out, seeing nothing but darkness, and hardening myself to fight for however long it stayed. I refused to give in to the bleak despair at that prospect.
Then I heard it. It was still a distant sound, unconnected with my own wall, but I knew it. It was a horn, blown only when a blatant victory against the dark had been won. It was sounding from one of the walls I had helped to build, and grown to love. It was sounding with joy, but more than that, with a strength beyond that of what is human. It made my heart cry, for I had longed for that sentry's escape from the darkness, and it had been given. Oh, God, thanks to you! I steadied myself, drawing in the memory to make myself warm. The memory of that friend's victory would be a shield against the dark. I drew myself up to start walking the wall again.
The warmth faded as I walked, but the memory stayed, still helping to shield me from the darkness. Then I stopped in my tracks. There, again! Another horn, another clear note of exultation and thanks, rising from another sentry's portion. Another friend, whose fight had been longer than mine had been by two years, had been given rest. Sweet rest, where doubt broke up and strength and hunger for righteousness had been given. With the darkness pierced, she could see the goodness of our portion, and desire with joy to work for it. That desire made our burdens light, and our yokes a blessing, for they helped us along the way as we built our walls. Two triumphs in so short a time. God, what a blessing. I looked out at the darkness, and smiled grimily. The sound of victory from both my friends had reminded me; my turn was coming. I could not lift this darkness. But I was not alone, and someday, someday in God's timing, I would be sounding my own horn, and the darkness would be lifting. Someday. Today, I would go back to guarding the wall.
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