Doors

Have you ever stopped to consider the number of doors you walk through each day, the number of times you enter a new space by way of a door, leaving the outside…well, outside.  There are certain doors we walk through in our lifetime that change us for good.  Once we take the first step inside, we will never be the same.  I remember being 5 years old and walking up the big stone steps to Highland Elementary in Plainview, Texas….about to enter the grand doors to public school, to kindergarten.  Walking through those doors felt like a HUGE, scary step.  I was entering this unknown world of education, beginning a journey, thrust into new relationships, navigating tricky social situations and discovering who I was.  Sure, my five year old brain didn’t understand all of that, but it knew enough to be slightly terrified.  On some level I knew that once I walked through those doors, my life would never be the same.  There are other doors that represent great change - like the mom in labor entering the doors of the hospital.  Once you enter, whether you leave with or without a baby in your arms, you are forever changed.  The doors of the chapel await the bride who gracefully steps into life changing love and commitment.  The doors of your home close out the world and provide a sacred space where you make priceless memories, where you can be 100% yourself, flaws and all.  

The week that Jon died, I had an issue with a few doors, doors that represented this unwelcome change in my life, this new road, this new identity.  There was the door to our apartment.  Though it was a temporary space for us, and not one that we loved and cherished, it was still “ours.”  I remember walking through the door the very first time, the day after he died, realizing that I would never walk in again and see him standing in the kitchen, or hear his voice call out from the bedroom.  I realized we would never sit outside on our little balcony again, enjoying evening breezes and talking through life.  The day before I had entered these doors as the woman with the life I wanted - married to the love of my life, blessed with sweet children, fulfilled in work, struggling with things, but basically living our dreams.  On this day, I entered these doors alone, a widow, a single mom.  Everything had changed.  The next day we had an appointment at the funeral home.  In these early days, though a fog of grief hangs in the air, there is a numbness that enters your body, allowing you to get dressed in the morning, make phone calls, show up for appointments and hug a thousand people without breaking down every second.  In this state of numbness I drove with my children to the funeral home.  As we walked toward the front door, I was suddenly unable to enter.  I felt frozen with disbelief that I was about to enter this building with the purpose of planning my husband’s funeral and discussing what to do with his body.  How had this happened?  How I was I here, standing outside this door?  On April 18th, the day of his funeral, the family and close friends gathered in a room preparing for the service.  The pastors lined us all up at two doors, with me leading the way, Jordan and McCartney by my side.  We walked down the hallway, approaching the doors of the sanctuary and I just stopped.  The room was filled with hundreds of loving friends who had come to pay their respect and support our family.  My heart was racing at the thought of entering those doors, wondering how I had become the woman in the black dress seated at the front of the room.  Everything had changed in an instant and walking through those doors was acknowledgement and acceptance that this was now my life.  There was no hiding from it or pretending it away.  A couple of weeks later, we flew back to Nicaragua, to the home we had built together, the place where we had dreamed together.  Again, a numbness entered my body as I walked through the doors of the house for the first time. I set about the task of unloading suitcases, sweeping out the dust and bugs that had settled in during our unexpected 6 week absence.  It wasn’t until the evening, until I was entering the door of our bedroom that it hit me.  I would be closing this door, brushing my teeth and getting ready to climb into bed alone.  This door that guarded our sacred space of oneness, the space where we shared love, tears, occasionally fought, spilled our fears, hopes and secret dreams, shared every vulnerability with the one we trusted most.  This was the place that was safe, secure, certain.  No matter what would happen during the day, I knew at night I could shut that door, shut out the world, and just be with the one I loved.   Now, walking through that door meant something else.  It was no longer a doorway to refuge, but a reminder of my aloneness.  Doors.

Writing this next part terrifies me. This is me being obedient to my God, who is prompting me to be transparent, to be real and open…not for pity, oh no, but so that we can see Him work.  Even as I sit here, I don’t know where this is going, but I pray that the Holy Spirit will invade my thoughts and my keyboard and deliver a message to both of us!  

Lately most doors terrify me.  I have become so depressed and self-involved that I try my hardest each day just to stay home.  But home…ugh….home is turning into more and more of a disaster.  Everyday I wake up with great intentions of what I will do, but I am just frozen.  I look around at the mess, the impending need for me to work, the overwhelming need for me to clean and organize something, but I am just frozen.  I drag out the beads and make some jewelry.  Why?  Because I can do that while I watch Netflix, while I sit on the floor, close the doors to the world and camp out in my own sadness.  Occasionally I do venture out.  I mean, I have to, right?  So, I go to choir practice, go to church, a school event, meet a friend for dinner or whatever.  I smile and even enjoy some of it, but somehow I can’t wait to get back home, to walk in the door to my giant mess.  Don’t get me wrong, I HATE the mess, but I just can’t seem to do anything about it.  I would be HORRIFIED if someone were to stop by.  I’m the person that decorated every corner and had to make everything picture-perfect, and though I was never a neat-freak, my house was usually clean and well put together.  Now I look around and wonder, who is this person living in chaos, closed up behind these doors?

Revelation 3:20 says, “Look! I stand at the door and knock. If you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in, and we will share a meal together as friends.”  

Me:  Oh no, Jesus, you do NOT want to come in here!  You stay out there.  Wait for me at the door.  I’ll meet you outside and maybe we can go somewhere together, but you do NOT want to come into this mess.  In fact, you CAN’T.  I mean, it’s too shameful.  (With Jesus waiting on one side of the door and me pressed up against the opposite side, I attempt to explain.) You told me to be strong and courageous, but I’m not!  If you come in here, you’ll see that I’m none of those things.  I’m weak, disorganized, undisciplined, sad and pathetic.  

Jesus:  No, you’re not.  You’re beautiful and you’re mine.  All I want is to be with you.  Don’t worry about the mess.  The weaker you are, the stronger I am.  The more hopeless you feel, the more peace and healing I’m bringing.  But for now, just let me come in and sit with you.  Behind those doors, I don't see a mess.  I just see you.  I see treasures of a life you loved.  I see two amazing children who are hurting, too.  I see a grieving widow who is trying to hold on to hope.  I see a girl, a woman, my child who is faithfully trying to provide for her family.  You just forgot that you didn’t have to do it alone.  When it got messy, you were embarrassed and sent me outside.  That’s ok.  I get it.  But the messier it gets, the more I want to be with you.  And yeah, maybe you see me standing outside this door, but the truth is I’m on the inside already.  You and I are one.  I told you I would never leave your or forsake you, and I meant it.  You can’t send me outside.  I am closer than your own skin.  You can NEVER actually lose me.  So, open the door, if that’s what helps.  Just know that I’m here.  I will do this with you.  I will do this for you.  There is no pressure.  There is no hurry.  There is no judgement.  I just want to be with you.  

As I typed the last paragraph, God was moving.  I was sobbing, not even looking at the keyboard as my fingers moved.  When I finished, I got up and warmed my coffee in the microwave, then came back and sat in the floor in the middle of my mess, just me and Jesus, and this was the phrase he whispered, “Just today.  You only have to do today.”  I have been so overwhelmed by the future days, the unknown days that I have forgotten that EACH day is a gift, a priceless treasure.  Once it is gone, we can’t get it back.  That used to feel like pressure to me!  Like, “you better pack everything you can into today, because you can’t get it back.  You don’t want to be the big loser with wasted days under your belt”  It makes me feel like I’m in a contest for who can be the most productive each day, and I realize that that is how I’ve lived most of my life...with constant pressure to do more, achieve more, be more, give more….until I couldn’t.  I just couldn’t.  But TODAY I see it differently.  Everyday is a priceless treasure, a gift, so ENJOY it!  Love it!  Be thankful for it - even the mess within it!  Look for the things that bring joy, hope and healing to YOU and to the people around you.  Don’t worry about your to-do list.  LIVE in each moment…the sad ones, the lonely ones, the painful ones, the funny ones, the cheerful ones, the mundane ones, the head-over-heels ones, all of it.  Sure, wash the dishes and make your appointments, open doors and close doors, but remember that you are not alone.

I don’t know how it happened - how I went from doors to this, but that’s all I got.  I don’t have a great “door” analogy to close with (no pun intended), but I pray that you find comfort, hope and joy as we walk this rocky road together.  Well, hold up! ….perhaps I do have one more door analogy.  I’m still sitting inside today.  The door to my apartment still separates my mess from the chaos of the outside world, but the door of my heart is a tiny bit more open than it was before I started writing….and that is something to be thankful for today….just today.