CLOSING THE DOOR

I took one last look inside the room, locked the door securely, and slowly walked away.

I was a young Christian. I had all the earmarks of spiritual immaturity and I knew it. I was still living on the milk of the Word but longed for its meat. The old adage, “You can’t expect new Christians to act like seasoned Christians” gave me minimal comfort at best.

Inside the locked room of my heart was something I had held precious for years. It comforted me, sustained me, thrilled me, gave me undiluted pleasure. But I shared its secrets with no one.

To me it represented something so ethereal yet so enduring that I framed poetry around it, set it to music and replayed it in the chords of my mind during long nights of restless sleep.

For years I had visited this room, lingering as long as I could, inhaling the familiar fragrance, touching the fraying fabric, polishing the lovely patina. After satisfying myself that this part of my past was secure and still sacred, I would slowly let myself out, look back with longing, and leave the door ajar for easy reentrance.

It was the one place where no one was invited because no one would understand. But I knew that as a follower of Christ. I would one day need to surrender its ownership to my Lord.

I tried visiting the room less frequently. I tried making excuses to myself for not going in. I tried imagining the room had diminished in importance to me. But I still visited the room of my heart almost daily and basked in its familiar pleasure.

One night, with my husband beside me and my sons asleep in the next room, I heard the gentle voice of the Spirit: “It’s time now to lock the room, to put it behind you, to make it a thing of your forever past.”

I argued. I begged and reasoned. “But, Lord, there is nothing wrong with that room. It isn’t hurting anyone because no one knows it’s there. It represents a time in my life that was beautiful and fulfilling, that held promise. I’ve loved that small, private room for many years. To ask me to close the door and lock it is to blot out a sacred and beautiful part of my past.”

“My child,” He said, “To everything there is a season. There is a time to let go. This is your time.”

In obedience, I walked through the recesses of my heart, entered the familiar room, took one last lingering look, and quietly closed the door behind me. Turning the key, I felt the hand of God on mine. Together, we locked the door. Forever.