We built a house.

We found a beautiful lot filled with maple and birch with a perfect rise in the center. For two years we visited the spot, soaking in its beauty and dreaming of the day we could build, and now we have a home here.

I didn’t realize, when we first walked the dreamy forest, how much destruction would be necessary to accomplish our dream. Dozens of trees fell to the earthwork even though the house isn’t large. The forest floor gave way to an engineered foundation. The wooded path became a driveway.

Those wild, rugged woods are relegated to the perimeter now. We still live within their circle, but not under the shelter of their canopy.

I think, sometimes, of the purpose of that destruction, of how much had to change to make a place of shelter. Of home.

We could have left the land in its natural state. We could have pitched a tent and rolled out sleeping bags, but the first sharp winter storm would have driven us out, away from our dream.

How much like religion that is. I know many who have pitched their tents in the welcoming woods of Christianity, but neglected the hard work of digging a foundation. The tent is enough, they think, as long as the weather holds in the sweetness of summer. But disillusionment quickly grows when the winds shift to the north and bitter cold seeps in beneath the thin canvas walls.

Some of us want just enough Jesus to claim our spot, but avoid the kind of commitment that causes uprooting our comfortable ways and the costly work of building a new home for our hearts.

Sometimes we wonder why the cold winds blow rather than work to build a shelter from their bite.

Jesus praised the one who built his life on the solid foundation of his words. That house stands firm in the storm, he said. And to build a stable structure, destruction must take place.

What will it take to let go our scraps of canvas and soggy sleeping bags that feel-good religion gives us, in exchange for the grit and grace of not just planning to build someday, but actually doing it?

Will we partner with the Spirit to pull out the rocks and stubborn stumps of pride and self-focus? Will we erect walls formed by the rich habits of study and prayer? Frame windows to appreciate life’s beauty? This is the kind of building that is more than a house—it becomes a home, both for our hearts and for others welcomed into its shelter.

So…what kind of house are you building? It’s never too late to start, you know. And certainly, it’s never too early. The blueprints have been drawn up and friends stand ready to help. It’s time.

By wisdom a house is built, and through understanding it is established; through knowledge its rooms are filled with rare and beautiful treasures.

Proverbs 24:3-4