I’m thinking about doors today, particularly an old wooden one. And that old door makes me think of my sister, which means… well if you don’t know, you will soon find out!
In our younger years, when we still lived at home and were not encumbered with husbands and children and many other cares that are part of our lives now, my sister and I loved to go shopping. The county next to ours had no end of places to peruse whenever we found ourselves with a few hours of spare time.
A quick note about the husbands and children. We love them dearly and wouldn’t trade them for all the shopping trips in the world. It’s just that our time spent shopping since we have families and live hundreds of miles from each other has changed into a different type of fun that is, in my opinion, more difficult. But on to the unencumbered shopping trip!
On the day of this particular escapade, we found ourselves at a store that, as I recall, was an old building made of stone, as many were in that area. The front entrance sported a set of heavy wooden doors, the kind which requires a bit of muscle if you want it to open far enough to pass through the entrance with ease. It is also important to keep a tight hold on the handle until you have completely cleared the said entrance as its weight makes it swing shut in a hurry.
My sister reached the door first and opened it with an ease born from experience. I followed close on her heels, my mind on what I needed to purchase more than on what I was doing.
I thought she was holding the door for me.
She didn’t.
And the next thing I knew, my fingers were caught between that heavy wooden door and the door jamb, jolting my brain back to the present in a very painful way.
I was stuck! I called to my sister in a loud, rather frantic whisper so as not to call attention to myself in the quiet store. She turned and, upon seeing my calamity, scurried to my rescue. With her pain-free hands, she quickly remedied the situation, pulling the monstrous, mildewed door open enough for my fingers to escape its hold.
My hand was now free, and as the blood rushed back into my pinched-off members, I fairly danced with the pain. I grabbed my offended fingers with my good ones and closed my lips tight to keep from screaming out some not-so-nice words, hopping first on one foot and then on the other, desperate for the throbbing to subside.
After a few very long minutes the pain receded a bit and I gathered my wits about me, glancing quickly around the room to make sure no one saw my mishap.
That’s when I saw my sister’s face.
She was laughing, with no sign of penitence for not holding the door in the first place and no apparent concern for my fingers which still appeared to be a bit smooshed. Instead, she was giggling. The kind of giggling that had her doubled over her cart.
Then she gasps out, “I’m sorry! Are you ok?”
I probably looked as outraged as I felt.
“It’s not funny!”
She only laughed harder, wheezing out bits of apology whenever she could get enough breath to do so. She may struggle with asthma, but that was not causing her wheezes this time.
I eyed her, sparks hot enough to light a roadside fire shooting in her direction but even that didn’t subdue her.
She continued to giggle into her fist until my sense of humor finally overcame the sting of my damaged fingers and I found myself leaning over my own cart in a fit of giggles. The pinched fingers really were no more her fault than mine.
But that big old door sure could get a person’s attention.
Speaking of which, it reminds me of the words of Jesus in John 10. While teaching the people that were hanging around him, he made this statement.
“I am the door.”
He is the door? What does he mean by that?
A door is a place in the wall that will either open to grant you access to what’s on the other side of the wall or it will stay closed, keeping you out and denying you that same access to the other side.
So, what is Jesus the door to? What is on the other side and how do we get him to open the door? Is he a little white garden gate or a big heavy wooden door that gives cause for mighty muscles if you want to gain entrance? The next verse gives me the answer.
“If anyone enters by me, he will be saved and will go in and out and find pasture.”
It sounds to me like Jesus is a door to freedom. When I enter, I find salvation and relationship on the other side of the wall. Both are his provision for me, and the key to everything else he has in store for me.
This freedom allows me to go in and out through him, finding the spiritual food I need to grow while at the same time living under his protection. He said that when the thieves of this world come and try to steal me away, I can run back through the door, and he will keep me safe.
Jesus will never kill or destroy his followers- just the opposite! He said he has come to give us life. But he doesn’t just offer an average kind of life. The life he offers is rich, profuse, plentiful, and superabundant!
Jesus, the door, is stronger and more solid than the heavy wooden door in the little Pennsylvania store, and he is able to keep out every thief that tries to harm us. I also picture him as the little white garden gate where he grants us easy access to the pasture he provides for us, allowing us to go out and rest, growing healthy as we live under his watchful eye.
And unlike my sister, he is always aware of who is going in and out at any given time, so we aren’t in any danger of smashing our fingers there.
Freedom. Protection. Pure life. All this is ours if we accept his offer of salvation.
He sounds like the best kind of door, don’t you think?