It’s been two weeks, and I still can’t find my keys. I’ve looked though various closets, under beds, in dresser drawers, through laundry. My hubby – who amazes me sometimes! – even went through the kitchen trash. He found coffee grounds, junk mail, banana peels. No keys.
So lately I’ve been pondering locked doors. Because when I come home with no keys, and the door is locked, I can’t get in. I have to knock and hope somebody hears me and that’s a miserable feeling after a long day, or when you’re standing out in the rain, or when you really need to get to a bathroom after a 45 minute drive and a 16 oz Diet Mountain Dew. I mean…come on…just let me in!
I have literally found myself pounding on the door.
It’s my own home for God’s sake.
Let me in.
I wonder if thats how it feels when you approach a church and, for whatever reason, find yourself facing a locked door?
“In that day I will summon my servant, Eliakim son of Hilkiah. I will clothe him with your robe and fasten your sash around him and hand your authority over to him. He will be a father to those who live in Jerusalem and to the house of Judah. I will place on his shoulder the key to the house of David; what he opens no one can shut, and what he shuts no one can open.” (Isaiah 22:20-22)