I love doors. I love what they represent, not just what they do. Most of us never think twice about the doors we go through on a daily basis–it becomes part of the blur, part of the mundane. I think in part, we forget about doors because they become a part of the framework, a part of the “greater structure” to us…at least, that’s how it appears in my mind’s eye. We don’t see them because we are not looking for them. We so often are moving at such life speeds that our transformation from one space to another through the demarcation of a door hardly affects us. We whisk hurriedly along, life in tow, and fail to notice the significance and effect of transition. Our minds, our hearts, our space in time and place seems infaliably to only reflect a countenance that truly shows, we are on our own mental cycles, our daily grind, our world. Yet, these subtle transitions are so important. These important demarcations in our lives that represent the movement from one occupancy of place…to another.

I especially love doors that tell stories–long-time, well-weathered, enduring doors. Some of my best memories come from the places I have been, the people that I have loved, and the doors that lead me to that communal place of simply ‘being’.

My grandparents lived in the same house from 1935 until their natural death in the early ’90s. They had a modest home firm full of goodness and West Texas ethic. If you have ever been or seen, then you know there is nothing quite like the still heat of a West Texas summer day to still every form of life, but as a kid, you really never stop to think about those things. My grandparents like other Abilenians, had a pea-gravel driveway–a perfect backdrop for any boy’s need for most anything, including dusty battles of war on a small scale (rest in peace little plastic army men). I would play for hours until literally, it felt like I had nothing left in me. Not even a drop of sweat. This would be the point in time when a kid thinks about those things (heat and why nothing makes a sound in the hottest part of the day). I would quickly scamper off to the back porch, dust in tow. Two quick hits of my shorts, shoes off, and I would be allowed in the back door.

The back door was actually, a screen door. Squeaky springs, small handled, wooden-framed, oddly painted and repaired into dependability in most every way. I knew when I hit that screen door, my transition from hot and hostile to chilled air conditioning and grape Kool-Aid was just a few steps away. I still get a real sense of ‘security’ when I think back about that door. You see, that door represented my entrance into my grandparents home. I still recall conversations in that home to this day, and I still ask my grandfather for his wise answer from time to time. In that home could be found love, respect, and honor given in exchange for hard work, honesty, and a selfless love for our neighbors. That door represented transitions in my life, from a very young boy, to a typical adolescent, to a teenager with long hair, to a young man in college, to a young husband…to a mourning young father…to a now thankful man.

You see, I believe doors are more than their purpose–like us. Doors represent security, for sure, but also much more. Doors represent transitions–that all important role of tellings us, “you have now gone a new way”.

I think God uses doors in our lives as well. Its easy for me to see that God ordains in His perfect timing, transitions. Though often not easy, these transitions give us comfort in the framework of understanding, we have entered a new place–a cue as to new work, new effect, newly exposed formation purpose, rawness of our edges, grace within His workings.

My encouragement to you is to celebrate the doors. Engage them in their God-given purpose and design..all of them. Everyone of them. Learn to see them, learn to know them, learn to accept them…after all, we are following Him through them. </msn>