Purple Hands? Seriously?

This is a Solid Brick Wall

No Breaking this on My Own

Psalm 31:3 NIV

"Since you are my rock and my fortress, for the sake of your name lead and guide me."

After a long day of classes, I rushed to my college dorm room only to enter a dark cave. Window blinds were drawn tight, lights off; no hint of joy emanated from the room to match my sunny mood.

I sighed, flipped on the lights, walked around the mass lying on the middle of the floor, and raised the blinds to let Indian Summer light stream into our ground floor room.

The iron bars attached to the outside of our window to keep thieves from breaking in (or us from sneaking out, alluding the watchful eye of our house mother, Mrs. McCrackin) cast parallel shadows, like prison bars, on the floor across the mattress and blankets covering my roommate with the hangover. 

Shelia slept on the floor because there were three of us in a room designed for two. She had arrived last, so she had no bed. We found a mattress and blankets and spread her out as best we could.


"Shelia! Shelia!" I urged, as I gently rocked her shoulder with my hand. I had to be careful as Shelia packed a powerful punch.

She was tough as nails and had won many bar fights when she was drunker than a skunk. This was the age before Tonya Harding, but she could have been a raven-haired cousin to her.

"Shelia! Wake up. It's almost 4:00.  You don't want to miss dinner like you did your classes today. By the way, do you remember how you got home from the Family Dog last night?"

She began to groan and grab her stomach. At first I thought she was going to throw up, but the nausea abated some. 

As she leaned on her elbow and pulled herself up, I noticed her face and hands. They were purple and rapidly turning black.

"Shelia! What happened to you? Did somebody do this to you?"

"Nah--I got into a fight with the wall at Sutter's Mill and the wall won. That's why my hands are bruised."

"But what about your head? What happened to it?" 

"I had a headache, and it wouldn't go away, so I tried banging my head on the frig to see if that would help."

I looked at our mini-frig, no bigger than three feet high and wondered who could intentionally bang their head on the side of this thing?  For one of the first times since I had met her, I began to feel sorry for her.

Shelia ended up not being invited back to college after Christmas, so my other roommate and I had more space to spread out in our cramped room.

My freshman year taught me many lessons, but Shelia introduced me to an important one: the evils of alcoholism.

I never heard from her afterwards and have no way to trace her.  I often wonder what became of her, but I have my suspicions.  Knowing the hills she was returning to, without a strong role model to guide her through her alcoholism, she would be destined to face a path of self-destruction.

Many people try to fill up holes in their lives with alcohol, drugs or other compulsive behaviors. They run away from the One who can help them most.

Shelia is not alone in her fight with the wall. I also fight and punch and kick and try to knock my walls down all the time, rather than surrendering my battles to God and letting him lead the way through the barriers.

I'm getting quicker at passing problems over to Him, but I still have ownership issues.

I'm working on this problem this year, and I see some progress, but who doesn't like a good fight with a wall now and then? 

Poor God. I know he sighs all the time, and thinks, "Seriously, Lori? You still want purple hands?"
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Dear Lord, help me conquer walls with your strength, not my own.