Ding-Dong

     On a recent winter morning, I had an unusual burst of domestic verve. After my customary two cups of coffee, I got busy picking up the house, loading laundry into the machine, brushing a swirl of blue cleaner in toilets and spraying all the surfaces in the kitchen with antibacterial liquid. What was that sticky stuff behind the toaster?

     I have to say, I was in the zone. I hadn’t even put on clothes. My old robe and slippers were just fine for this day at home. Admittedly, I should have tossed the robe in to the washer with one of the loads. It was marked with coffee drips and and a rather large yellow egg stain. (My nick-name should be Spot.) I had to laugh when I looked into the bathroom mirror while cleaning and saw several clumps of my short hair standing at wacky angles.

     I was deep into scouring, even gloved in yellow rubber, when the doorbell rang. Of course, I wasn’t going to open the door looking like that! What I did do was peek out of the front bedroom window to see who it was. I didn’t recognize the car, but I am oblivious to what my friends drive, so that didn’t help. I strained a bit more and saw the visitor staring at the door. My pulse quickened. It was a dear friend I hadn’t seen in over a year. But, how could I open the door like this? I was barely presentable for the dog, let alone my good friend. It was clear I needed to change first.

     I ran to the bedroom and changed into jeans and a shirt. I stuck my hairbrush under the faucet and quickly tried to tame the mane. Heading back to the door, I pinched my cheeks remembering that’s how they created color in prairie days. This will have to do, I thought. 
     I swung open the door to see the car heading out of the neighborhood.
     A note hung from the door knocker. 
              Wendie, I’m so sorry I didn’t get to visit with you.
               I’d looked forward to it. Maybe next time. 

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     Jesus said, “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me.” (Revelation 3:20 ESV)
     I missed it. I was too concerned with looking presentable for my friend. How foolish. If I had opened the door I’m sure I would have been greeted with a smile. We would have spent good time together. But, because I was vain, because my pride took over, I missed it.
     Do I miss answering the door to Jesus because I think I have to be “presentable” before I can let him in? Doesn’t Jesus who sees all things and knows our thoughts even before we do want to see that doorknob turn? Even if I put on my finest formal gown, had my hair and makeup done and teeth whitened, I’d still be lacking. I might look pretty in the mirror, but Samuel 16:7 tells me that man looks at the outward appearance, but God looks at the heart. 
      In all of my efforts to clean, did I take time to clean my heart that morning? Perhaps, if I had, my morning would have been filled with assurance instead of trying too hard. I’ve talked with people who think they have to earn Jesus. They feel like until they can check off a list of completed tasks, they aren’t ready. That’s when I remind them of the thief hanging next to Jesus. He didn’t climb down and complete a list. He was guilty... but forgiven because of his faith. There’s only one cleaner I need and that’s the blood Jesus gave on the cross.
     Remove my sin and make me pure. Wash me until I am whiter than snow!  (Psalm 51:7 ERV)

     I opened the door of my heart to him years ago dressed in the stinking filth of sin. Are you still waiting? Still trying? Don’t miss it.
     Listen. Was that the doorbell?

Stormy Sunday

Usually, on Sunday morning, I'm entering my church about now. Ready to see good friends, share smiles and hugs, sing praises and listen to a message that I need to hear. Sundays are good medicine for me.

This morning, I'm sitting at the kitchen table in dim light watching the stormy clouds hang and drift. Nothing alarming - just a little thunder here and there. The dishes are done, the washer and dryer are doing their rhythmic thing behind me and the dog is snoozing on the sofa. I didn't stay home because I'm sick or busy. I just felt the need to be here.

I'm alone. But, not really.

I'm never alone. I know so many women with small kids and busy lives feel that way. I can remember when I was in that arena and thought I'd never be in a bathroom alone. Privacy was a long lost friend. We women are born nurturers and spend most of our waking hours hoping to attend to other's needs. We feel good when we can see smiles and hear sighs of contentment. It's good. Yet, even then, we sometimes crave that time when no one needs us right this second. When we can turn all the noise makers off and hear...quiet.

So, today,with the exception of my canine companion who needs nothing right now, I'm alone. But, as I said, I'm never alone. I have a gentle companion who is always with me. He seldom raises his voice. He usually whispers quiet encouragement to my soul. He isn't a show-off. But, he's always there. If I'm not listening or looking for him, I often miss him. I can forget he's even around. To be honest, I even ignore him sometimes. It's amazing he's still with me.

But he never, ever, ever forgets me. He made me a promise to stick around forever. Even when I'm ignoring him. And I know I can count on his promises. He's not one who says one thing and does another. He's passed the test. Proven himself over and over again. When even my dearest people let me down, I know there is one I can count on. And I run to him. Often, running with tears.

He's closer than a brother, a constant companion, a teacher, encourager, and guide.

He knows my thoughts.
He sees my heart.
And he loves me completely.

I'm spending this stormy Sunday morning with Him.

(John 14:15-27)