Christian Living

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I am walking down a long and wide hallway that is cold and creepy. I find three doors at the end of it. One has a vintage door knob; another looks like a cube, and another is quite ordinay in every way.

I open the vintage door and find that it filled with "memory". There are good memories and I take them in like inhaling a fragrant bouquet of flowers. But then there are painful memories. I recall my first evangelistic assignment and then I remember a dreadful heartache. I can not live in this room. Though there is good in this room, the pain haunts me. Even the good memories are not who I am anymore. I see that I am changing and I find that I am not able to breath adequately in this space. There is too much dust. I can visit this place but I can not live here.

I open the door with the knob that looks like a cube and find it is called "intellect." There I fill my mind with things like strategy and theory. It is very satisfying for awhile; for a long while I might add. I even find a Bible in this room along with a concordance and commentaries. Here I think about design and literary elements. After awhile I find emptiness even though I find a degree of success and depth here. I feel something is missing.

I open the third door though it is not all that inviting outwardly. The only reason I open the door is because I hear a knock on the other side. I approach this one out of intrigue and amusement. How odd that someone would be knocking on the inside of a door. As I enter, I find out it's name. It is the "Secret Place of the Most High." There is nothing in this room except a canvas on an easel. There are no paintbrushes nor is there any paint. The Artist of my life is in there. With His hands I watch Him mix the bad memories with His wisdom and create something new and better. It is here where we share the good memories and the joy is much sweeter. It is here that intellect is mixed with His love, and life has more depth and meaning. But it is here where my heart finds rest. In the presence of a Friend who knows me intimately and is not distracted by my rough spots or sudden rashes of imperfection (scratch, scratch).

I long to stay in this room but I don't always stay in this room because sometimes I wander into the other rooms or find myself in the hallway. The hallway is just a nowhere kind of space. But then I hear that faithful knock and return. Someday I will stay in that room all day. May today be that day for you and for me.

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