“I am sorry I ran from you. I am still running, running from that knowledge, that eye, that love from which there is no refuge. For you meant only love, and love, and I felt only fear, and pain. So once in Israel love came to us incarnate, stood in the doorway between two worlds, and we were all afraid.”
~Annie Dillard in Teaching a Stone to Talk
Some doors in our lives remain forever closed and locked. No key, no admittance, no way in, no way out. There is clarity in a locked door with no choices to be made. If there is a choice and I’m unsure of what I should decide, I tend to run scared.
The locked door is an invitation with the potential to change everything when the key is handed to me. I now must make a choice, even if the choice is to do nothing.
Do I lose the key and stay put where things are at least familiar?
Do I knock and politely wait for the door to be answered?
Do I simply wait for the moment it happens to open, take a peek and decide whether or not to enter?
Or do I boldly put the key in and walk through?
The choice to be made is as plain as the key resting in my trembling hand.
When I approach, drawn to the mystery, the door is already standing open.
For unto us a child is born, a son is given.
He is the threshold between two worlds, the unlocking love that allows us to throw away the key.