Behind the Hoarding Wall

There is a curious structure that appears at almost every serious construction site, yet very few people ever stop to think about it.

It is not the foundation.

It is not the building.

It is not even meant to last.

It is the hoarding wall.

Over the past few months, I have spent a considerable amount of time supervising the construction of several projects. Before the first trench was dug or the first block was laid, one of the first tasks was putting up the hoarding around the site.

To most people, it is little more than a temporary fence.

Corrugated iron sheets. Timber posts. A gate that squeaks more than it should. Sometimes a signboard announcing what will eventually stand there.

Nothing particularly remarkable.

In fact, most people find it rather annoying.

It blocks the view.

It creates dust.

It narrows the road.

Drivers complain about it.

Pedestrians walk around it.

Neighbours become curious about what is happening behind it.

Yet every experienced builder knows that the hoarding wall is one of the most important parts of the project.

Not because it builds anything.

But because it creates the conditions in which building becomes possible.

Behind that wall, things can be untidy.

Excavators dig deep trenches.

Steel bars lie scattered across the ground.

Concrete mixers make their familiar music from dawn to dusk.

Fundis argue over measurements.

Wheelbarrows compete for space.

Someone is always looking for a missing spanner.

Another insists the tape measure has shrunk overnight.

Construction is rarely elegant.

At least not in the beginning.

From outside the hoarding, all you see is noise and confusion.

From inside, there is purpose.

The disorder is not random.

It is progress wearing dusty overalls.

Life, I have discovered, has its own hoarding walls.

Most of us only see the finished buildings.

The successful business.

The happy family.

The thriving farm.

The promotion.

The graduation.

The beautiful home.

What we rarely see are the months—or years—spent behind the hoarding.

The rejected proposals.

The failed businesses.

The lonely nights.

The unpaid invoices.

The arguments.

The doubts.

The mornings when giving up felt like the easier option.

Social media has made this even worse.

We admire polished buildings without ever seeing the muddy foundations.

We compare our beginning to someone else's finished project.

It is hardly a fair comparison.

A few weeks ago, while inspecting a client's perimeter wall, a gentleman stopped outside the hoarding and peered through a small opening between the sheets.

"So," he asked with a smile, "what exactly are you people building in there?"

I smiled back.

"If I told you everything," I replied, "there would be no reason for the hoarding."

He laughed and walked away.

But his question stayed with me.

Human beings are naturally curious.

We want to know what is happening behind closed doors.

Sometimes we even become impatient with people whose progress we cannot see.

Yet perhaps some work is meant to remain hidden until it is ready.

Seeds germinate underground.

Babies grow in the womb.

Concrete gains strength beneath its surface long before anyone dares stand on it.

Some of the most important work in life happens where applause cannot reach.

There is another reason for the hoarding wall.

It protects both sides.

It keeps curious visitors away from danger.

A construction site is full of hazards that are not obvious to someone passing by. An uncovered trench, a suspended load, a freshly cast slab or a pile of steel bars can turn an innocent visit into an emergency.

But the wall also protects the work itself.

Without it, tools disappear.

Materials find new owners.

Well-meaning visitors interrupt the flow of work with endless questions.

Every project needs a little space to breathe.

The same is true in life.

Not every dream needs to be announced.

Not every plan needs public approval.

Sometimes we speak too soon.

We invite opinions before ideas have matured.

We seek applause before commitment.

We expose fragile beginnings to unnecessary criticism.

I have learned that there is wisdom in allowing certain things to grow quietly.

Not out of secrecy.

Out of stewardship.

The older I become, the more I appreciate seasons when life feels hidden.

Perhaps God also builds behind hoarding walls.

There are times when we wonder why doors remain closed, why progress seems invisible, why nothing appears to be happening.

Meanwhile, foundations are being dug.

Character is being strengthened.

Patience is being poured like concrete.

Perspective is curing slowly, just as fresh concrete must cure before it can carry weight.

We call it waiting.

Perhaps heaven calls it construction.

Eventually, every hoarding wall comes down.

When it does, people admire the finished building.

They compliment the architecture.

They take photographs.

Few remember the months of dust, noise, mistakes, redesigns and corrections that made the building possible.

That is the nature of success.

People celebrate what they can see.

They rarely applaud what happened behind the wall.

Maybe that is why I have grown rather fond of hoarding walls.

They remind me that not every season of life is meant for display.

Some seasons are meant for digging.

Some for building.

Some for correcting.

Some for becoming.

And perhaps the greatest mistake we can make is tearing down the hoarding before the work behind it is complete.

Because unfinished buildings, like unfinished character, are safest while they are still under construction.

Life rarely ends when a chapter closes; it simply hands you a blank page.