I have….a closet. I’m sure you have one too.
This closet of mine has white wire shelving and soothing sage-green walls. A wooden shelf stands sentinel at the edge of the wall, its exterior coated in several layers of white paint. The usual array of closet basics hang in rows, pants on the lower shelf, shirts on top. It’s a very useful room, and manages the overflow from my dresser drawers quite handily.
But today, I couldn’t shut the door.
Oh, I knew there was a problem in my storage space. In fact, I’ve been meaning to get in there and reorganize for four months. But today I just couldn’t shut the door.
A closed door for me echos the phrase I’ve fully embraced: “Out of sight, out of mind”.
About two years ago, I took control of all the kids’ books we owned. My children seemed to enjoy throwing them on the floor and dancing “La Cucaracha” on them, and even though most of the volumes were yard-sale or thrift store finds, I couldn’t stand the sacrilege of vandalized books. Into my closet they went, sectioned neatly into stacks of paperbacks and hardbacks, board-books, and history titles. I even found a childproof lock and clamped it around my door handle. And all was well, at least for a while.
But children grow older as children do, and soon, the childproof lock was useless against their forays into my closet. At first I encouraged them.
“Yes of course you can go and get a book to read! Just put it back when you’re done reading,” I said. They complied halfheartedly, (which really means they didn’t) so after I reorganized the books several times into precise boxes, I relaxed my OCD tendencies and decided that as long as they were on the shelves, they didn’t have to be sorted.
Then my behavior turned dismissive. One day I noticed several paperbacks flutter to the floor while I hung up a pair of jeans, but the task of cleaning up was placed on the back-burner, and quickly forgotten. Several months later I opened the door and saw the baby’s handiwork. She’d unshelved over 100 books and was sitting quietly in the disorder while turning the pages of one of my devotional books. It was an atrocious mess but I had more pressing responsibilities, so I grabbed her up, nestled her on my hip, and closed the door.
The firm click of the door closing became a daily echo. Even the intensity of my holiday cleaning didn’t invade that stalwart wooden threshold.
Before Christmas, I told my husband, “Now that school is out, one of my projects is to finally clean out my closet!”
But a lingering stomach bug that passed through the ranks of my children, and then passed through again tossed a dirty closet from my mind. Instead I focused on four weeks of germ prevention, washed sheets in the midnight hours, and sat on the couch beside each child in turn catching vomit in a bucket. (My kids cannot aim. They simply cannot).
It was a relief to just shut the door and pretend that my room was a safe haven. I’d curl up in the chair by the window, admire my freshly made bed, and bask in the sunshine filtering through the blinds. If my eyes happened to turn towards that door, I’d just redirect them to a calmer spot….perhaps my newly polished dresser, or a stack of neatly folded laundry.
It’s now February. And today I can’t shut the door.
The subtlety of this small drama is not lost to me for it mirrors my inward struggle. I also have a closet deep in my heart that won’t quite shut.
It’s brimming with pieces of hurt, a few boxes of dusty emotional trauma, and shelves groaning with the weight of garments I am too frightened to wear. This closet is where I shove the fear and uncertainty I feel when I ponder what the Lord might ask of me. I call it “the illusion of control”. As long as I only see the outside of that whitewashed closet door, I can pretend that there is nothing inside. I can almost coax myself into thinking that there IS no closet at all.
But the pretense is in vain, because when the door creaks open, as doors do, the chilly breath of anxiety whistles through my soul and reminds me of that gaping dark hole. It whispers that fierce monsters reside there and the sane thing to do, is to install a strong lock to keep them at bay. “Keep everyone out!” the voice orders, “especially JESUS, because He always calls people to do the hard things”.
I turn away from these whispers and look at the man beside me. He has nail-scarred hands, a worn woven garment, and skin, deeply browned from the desert sun.
My eyes travel towards His face. He raises his eyebrow towards me in gentle knowing and the tiny laugh lines around His eyes grow deeper as He looks at me. He’s simply waiting. Standing here beside the closet door of my heart, waiting on me to release my clammy death-grip on the knob. His hand moves to rest on my shoulder and I feel unexplained peace calm my panic-stricken heartbeat.
Suddenly I’m desperately holding on to Him, the hope and anchor of my soul(Hebrews 6:19-20) and pouring out my heart to him as I dump all my questions and worries into the refuge of His strong arms.(Psalm 62:8)
I’m not looking for the answer to all my questions exactly, I’m just slowly working my way up to a “Yes, Jesus, please come in”.
My mind pulls me back in time until I’m eleven years old again, standing at the top of a fifteen foot tower, staring over the chipped wooden edge into murky lake water. I hold my nose and begin counting, “one, two, three….”. I shiver uncontrollably, half in excitement, half in fear and lose my place. I want to jump. I want to free-fall and plunge into the refreshing water that will change the sizzle of the sun-seared skin on my shoulder into chill bumps of delight. Yet, fear begs me to take the shameful way out, push past the waiting crowd behind me, and climb down the rough wooden ladder slats I just ascended.
“No!” I say loudly to the cowardice coursing through my veins. “I’ve come this far, and I won’t turn back now.” I back up, tense my muscles, and suddenly I’m running toward the edge. My feet leave the weathered platform in one giant leap and I’m falling with equal exhilaration and terror into the unknown. The water closes over my head and I kick wildly towards the surface. But as soon as I bob to the top, sending ripples of lake water towards shore, I’m filled with intense euphoria. I did it! I didn’t let my fear control me and rob me of my victory. I can’t remember the exact number of times I jumped off that tower again that day, but it was at least forty. The first leap was the hardest, but it was also the sweetest.
The door handle is warm in my hand now, and I look at Jesus one more time, gathering strength. I let out my breath in a long sigh, release the knob and step back.
The Lord’s face breaks into a glowing smile, and he reaches for my hand, holding me in shared communion as the door swings inward. The light from His robe illuminates the dark space and I startle in surprise when I see that the place I most feared looks out over the pale sand and the blue waters of a Caribbean paradise. A few steps down the beach I see a small table, two chairs angled tantalizingly towards the ocean, and a basket of warm, sweet rolls that drip with butter. He’s inviting me to come and dine in the place I have long avoided.
So I step over the threshold, clinging tightly to His hand. I’m with Jesus and that’s all that matters to me now. I still don’t have any answers, yet I am content in this quiet victory of letting go, for I know that He is with me and will never let me go. (Deuteronomy 31:6)
Take a moment:
- Does your fear and anxiety cause you to barricade a closet door of your heart against God and His gentle knocking? Maybe you have a whole wing in your castle that you just can’t stand to unlock. Perhaps it’s the shadow of past abuse that you need healing from, or a distrust of what the Lord will do if given free rein. I know….believe me, I know the terror that you feel at just the thought of letting Him in. The thing about Jesus is, He’s not a villain who blasts the gate open with a cannon and storms the castle while running roughshod over all your hallways, tromping mud and filth into the rugs. In actuality, He’s much closer to the therapist and counselor on TLC’s “Hoarders”. We side with the shocked faces of the friends and family of the individual, holding our breaths in the filthy bathrooms, and gasping in horror at the roaches running rampant in the kitchen. But Jesus walks in without a modicum of disgust crossing His face. He’s seen worse. Now He is firm in His standard that things must change, yet He waits for me to make the first move; to give Him my shoddy bag of trash and accept that His knowledge of what I need is greater than mine. Think of the door you can’t seem to open to God and write that fear or trauma down on a piece of journal paper.
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Read these verses about the Lord’s constant presence in our lives and write the one that speaks most deeply to you beside your statement of fear.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Psalm 23:4-5
Trust in Him at all times, O people; pour out your heart before Him; God is a refuge for us. Psalm 62:8
Abide in Me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in Me. John 15:4
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
Trust in the Lord and do good. Dwell in the land and feed on His faithfulness. Delight yourself also in the Lord, and He shall give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the Lord, trust also in Him and He shall bring it to pass. Psalm 37:4
Fear not, for I am with you; Be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, yes, I will help you, I will uphold you with My righteous right hand. Isaiah 41:10
This hope we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and steadfast, and which enters the presence behind the veil, where the forerunner has entered for us, even Jesus. Hebrews 6:19-20b
3. Open your heart to the Lord in prayer and tell Him in your own words the struggle you have with letting go. Pour out your anxieties about it, your fears, and your questions. Then sit in silence for a few minutes holding Jesus’ hand. Think about what you need to do in order to say “Yes Jesus, come in”, then do whatever it is that will lead to your “yes”. It’s worth it.
4. Listen to this song c. Bethel Music called “Goodness of God” and praise Him for His forever faithfulness.
Praying strength for you my dear friend, for although the journey is difficult, the Master is faithful. Trust in Him.
Much Needed today! Love this!