In my corridor of life the doors stand open. If I’ve met you, I’ll likely remember something about you, no matter how short the meeting. I have acquaintances, relatives and experiences… rooms of my life. The doors hang open… in case. Something was shared, now something is treasured or lost, depending on what was said or maybe what happened there.
I’m not collecting. I’m not trying to keep all the threads. I don’t have to work at this. It’s happening to me.
Often it’s a burden and ends up feeling like unfinished business. I wish I could simply fold it away, tucked safely, and shut the door. Especially the broken.
Mostly, I enjoy the open doors. The old acquaintances from Bible School. I’ve not seen most of them since, but I haven’t forgotten. I would sing that song again with Kathy and Rozella if we happened to meet in the hall. I think every chord and the lyrics would be there. It’s a happy door. Maybe someday.
Classmates and cousins are still mine somehow. All the churches in my life, the places I’ve lived, and my childhood home. Any little thing can give me a glimpse back into a room. There’s a certain brand of shampoo that when I catch that fragrance I’m sixteen again at the north Dakota meetings and the man I will marry is there, too.
There is the agony of changes and partings and losses… All doors that won’t shut.
I’m not collecting. Not purposely. It’s what is happening to me.
But, I’m believing that those doors ajar will be what heals, as well. People I still love, memories held dear. I suppose pain wouldn’t be, but that we loved.
Elv commented the other day that he’d came across the verse about God putting eternity in our hearts. I see. So then, I’ll trust Him to help me to not be overwhelmed beyond bearing, either the pain or the pleasure of my doors.