Doors

Once, when I was a little kid, my mom took me to the public library. I had to run inside and return a book, so she waited in the car. When I approached the automatic door, the door did not open. I'm not sure if I didn't weigh enough, wasn't tall enough, or just wasn't in the exact right spot, but I stood on that mat and nothing happened. I jumped up and down, hoping to get it to work, and it finally did.

This story popped into my head this morning as I was meditating on all of the opportunities God has blessed me with. I can't speak for everyone, but I have a feeling I'm not alone in picking one door I want Him to open and sticking to it.  Left and right, God in His infinite wisdom is swinging doors open to all sorts of new things that I would love if I tried, but none of them are the door I have in mind. So I stay there, on the mat in front of the door I have chosen, and I do whatever it takes to get it open. I jump, I flail, I bargain, and I pout. To no avail.

I think what I forget is that I am exactly like my little kid self. If I had had my mother with me at that entrance, the door would've swung open instantly, permitting me to go inside. But she wasn't. Trying to embark on something new alone is the exact opposite of what the Lord wants for us. For a long time, I never considered that image of God opening doors as the beginning of something, or, rather, for what it is: an invitation. I just assumed that image stopped there. That God nonchalantly strolls down this long hallway that looks like dressing rooms and picks and chooses doors, and my job is to chase Him and try out doors if I so desire. But the more I reflect on it, the more it seems that God is a gentleman, holding the correct door open for me and waiting for me to get there so that he can join me inside and continue guiding me after I'm committed.