There has to be a place or thing in everyone’s life that stands out. I’m not necessarily talking about a place where some major happening occurred, but one that holds a special spot in your heart. Let me explain what I mean.
My front door. Yep. The front door of my home in Normandy Park, Washington, where I grew up. In the sixteen years I lived there, I’m sure I opened and closed that door a million times. However, the last few years, about a handful of times I walked out of that house one way, only to come back different. Not that the door was different, but I was different. Once home, opening that door sort of symbolized opening up this new thing about me to my family.
The first time that happened was when I was eighteen. I was being picked up by my best friend, on our way to a Christian camp. I opened that door and left, thinking many things. I had recently graduated and was confused with life ahead. What college route to take, when to get a decent job, and how to deal with family problems were all heavy on my mind as I shut that front door. But more so was that lack of peace in my own heart, confused about the God I grew up knowing versus the God I had been hearing about the last few months. This camp, I hoped, could answer my questions.
When I was dropped off at my home five days later, I walked up to that front door thinking, “First time I’m opening this door understanding what ‘born again’ means, and seeking God, not myself.” To make a long story short, at that camp God opened my eyes to what being a true believer really meant. No more trusting my own beliefs; no more following the traditions of what I grew up believing, or my own attempts at being ‘holy.’ One day at that camp, things finally made sense. Or, should I say, one day at that camp, Christ opened my eyes and my heart, showing me what saving grace and faith really meant.
When I walked up to that front door, I knew I was still a sinner, but now a forgiven sinner who hated my sin. Today, thirty-one years later, I still remember feeling God’s love and presence when I opened that door.
I was entering my house as happy as could be, but also a bit nervous, knowing that once that door opened, I would be the only one in my home claiming this ‘born again’ title. An awkward feeling, indeed.
Thankfully, I had Christ as my constant companion while turning that knob, no matter what I was going to face.
Why am I sharing this? Because the next time I write I’ll talk about opening that front door a year later to this different new me that is explained in my book.
I am eager to know if any of you can picture a certain place or thing that stands out. Could it be a door for you, as well? How about a car, or a stuffed animal? If something comes to mind, please share. What or where it is would be good enough, or, better yet, a simple reason as to why it’s special to you. I look forward to reading.