This picture creates so much perspective for me. I look at LC on her tiptoes, reaching up to try to open that blue door, and something about it has stuck with me for the last few days. I just keep going back to look at it.
My friend, Jessica, and I decided that, since we both had our afternoon free earlier this week, we would meet up halfway between our two great states - Georgia and Alabama - and have lunch and let our girls play. While LC and I were waiting on Jessica and Olivia to arrive, we were walking up and down the sidewalk in a cute little renovated town and came upon this row of offices that looked more like something European-esque to me.
Five Blue doors spread out in a row in front of LC and I watched as she went to each one, knocked, wiggled the handle, and tried to figure out a way to open the doors. Up and down she would walk.
"Knaw-Knaw" she'd say, tapping her tiny, balled up fist on the door and trying to repeat the "Knock-Knock" we've taught her to do before coming into a room. Most of the offices were closed for the day and I didn't have to worry about us bothering anyone so I just let her explore.
Of all the doors, there was this one in particular LC kept coming back to and I found myself wondering, "Why?" Why did she want that one? What was it about the idea of entering Blue Door #4 that captured her when there were so many other doors to choose from?
I couldn't help applying that analogy to life and faith as I stood there and watched her. How many times, in my own life, had I decided on a particular Door and just felt determined it was the right one, forsaking all other Blue Doors without a backward glance?
There have been many of those times, I know.
I know that I did that with motherhood. In my infertility, I looked at Biology door and thought, "That's my door...that's the only door for me." and then I proceeded to do everything I could do to get in.
Meh, no matter. I'll just wiggle the handle and pound on the door and scream and cry and shake my fist until it opens because I only have eyes for this door. Surely with enough persistence the door will open or someone on the other side will hear the pounding and let me in. Who would keep someone outside that wanted in so desperately? Surely my cries wouldn't be ignored. Surely.
But no, the door stayed closed and instead of stepping back and looking with fresh eyes at the other doors - those other opportunities that might be better for me - I somehow thought that leaving the locked door and walking through another one must mean I was giving up. After all, Biology Door was what I desperately wanted...and didn't that mean something?
I wonder if God looked down at me - His little girl - as I stood there on my tiptoes, rattling the handle and pondered why I was so incredibly determined to get in that door. The one He had sovereignly locked me out of for a very good reason. Quite simply, it wasn't the best door for me.
I wonder if He marvelled at how long I was willing to stand there and pound, even though it was so clearly locked. And I wonder if it hurt Him when I turned to Him, tears streaming down my face as I shook my little fist, angry He wouldn't let me in.
If you love me like you say you do, I screamed, HOW CAN YOU JUST STAND THERE AND DO NOTHING?
I wonder if it broke His heart when I turned away from Him and dropped to my knees in front of that door, head hung low in despair, and said, "I know you told me that you have a good plan for my life but I'm not sure I believe you anymore. I've been asking you for help and you're just standing there."
I remember now, though, how He gently called to me and reminded me there were other doors. I see now that there were times He tried to let me know that behind a different door there were greater things ahead for me.
I remember how He walked forward and gently embraced me as I cried and I remember how He stood and held out His hand to me and said, "Stop fighting, little one..."
I recall how His arm didn't grow weary and He never stopped reaching out for me, even as I refused to stand up and take His hand. He waited for me to cry all my tears. He patiently waited for me to tire of pounding and screaming and, as a parent now, I know how that must have hurt Him to watch.
And, finally, when I had given up on my own Blue Door dream and said, "Show me. I want to see what you've got that's so great..." He took the hand I offered and gently said, "Come this way...you're going to love it."
And He was right...
Unimaginable blessings and happiness and hope and peace. Behind a different door I'd find my passion and I'd, for the first time in my life, truly find my purpose. Behind a different door - one I was so dang determined to ignore - there was a beautiful story waiting for me. I only had to stop pounding on the wrong door and start seeking out the Door I was meant to walk through.
Little girl in front of the Blue Door, may you always find your way...
Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened. Matthew 7:7-8