Trust
When someone comes into your life unexpectedly and you don't know why, it's a natural reaction to be cautious about opening yourself, your home, and your secrets. We are programmed to draw back when the way is too open. Like a deer in an open field might feel vulnerable to attack by a predator.
I once performed lab experiments with mice. We built houses from cardboard and documented the amount of time the mice spent against the walls of the house in contrast to the time spent in the middle of the house, on the open floor. We had a wall-fence around the house that the mice could investigate by coming outside of the house. Mice like boundary lines. They like being next to something. They like walls. They feel safer next to a wall.
Walls are protection. You can duck behind them and sneak beside them. They are harder than your body. They provide a buffer, a division, a boundary line, a border, safety. Walls mark territory.
To tear down a wall requires strength and effort; willingness to affect change. To step out from behind a wall requires trust. To stand in the open, courage.
Walls are a projected image. Walls are a spiny glance, a thorny word, a critical thought. Walls make all the uncertainty certain. Walls don't require feeling or allow it.
When a gift is offered, you must reach out your hand to receive it; come out from behind the wall a bit. When another gift is offered, again you must come out and receive it; this time a little further. Pretty soon, you find yourself not standing near the wall anymore. After awhile, you are in the open field perhaps looking for the wall sometimes and even running toward it. But at some point, the wall disappears - the projected image is gone, lost forever.
Trust works this way.
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