When the Walls Crumble: Is Jesus Still Enough?

In the beginning, there was a cry: "Bumalik na kayo, magpapakabait na ako". This is one of my earliest childhood memories—a picture of me pleading for someone, anyone, to stay. I was scared of being abandoned, and I believed that at any moment, people would leave me, but if I tried hard enough, if I were good enough, I could make them stay.

Some found it funny, even dramatic. I was often called a drama queen, but deep down, it wasn’t just about theatrics. That feeling of being left behind, of being the one no one chooses, stayed with me as I grew older. In a room full of people, it always seemed like everyone else was chosen—except me.

As a coping mechanism, I learned to take up as little space as possible. I never wanted to be a burden or an inconvenience. I didn’t ask for things, not even from my parents, no matter how much I wanted them. I knew we were already walking a tightrope. I never joined field trips, seeing them as luxuries I couldn’t afford. If there were expenses at school, I tried to cover them myself from my allowance. I only asked for help when I truly had no other choice.

I also became performance-oriented. If I did well, if I followed the rules, if I was responsible, maybe I would be needed. Maybe I would be wanted. I became the dependable one—the good girl, the one who never strayed, the one my family could trust to make the right choices. But at some point, God showed me that all of it was a facade. Was I doing these things because that was truly who I was? Or was I doing them out of fear, afraid that if I wasn’t good enough, I had no value and that people would leave?

Since then, I have felt like I was thrust into a journey of breaking down the walls I have built throughout the years. It has been a painful but necessary journey of losing the things I once held on to, of realizing that my hope is not in how I look, what I know, what I have to offer, or even in the relationships I cherish. My security is not found in my church, my friends, or my family. My hope is found in Jesus alone.

But hope thrives in trust. When I say that my hope is found in Jesus, do I mean that? Do I trust that if everything fades away, Jesus will still be enough? If my dreams don’t come true, if my prayers go unanswered, if everything I have built crumbles, if the people I love walk away, will I still believe that He is good? That He is worthy?

As Khalil Gibran said, "For even as love crowns you, so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth, so is he for your pruning. Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun, so shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth."

I have been clinging to many things, but God is gently peeling my fingers away from them, one by one. Maybe the real question is not whether I will lose everything but whether I will finally let go and trust that Jesus is, and always will be, enough.