Knocking. I often pray for God to meet people where they are. After all, I often don’t know where a person is spiritually, how far or close to God they are, or what their particular needs are at any moment in time. So I ask God, Lord, meet them where they are. But this morning, I realized how funny it was that I would ask God to do something He is already doing!
I had just read the 3rd chapter of the Book of Revelation and verse 20 quickly came to mind. Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me. (Yes, I am reading the King James translation this year.)
I noticed that God comes to the door. God does the knocking. God knocks on EVERY door, otherwise He wouldn’t say, if ANY man (and of course, woman) hear my voice, and open the door. Clearly God meets us where we are.
So why don’t we open the door? What keeps us from welcoming God in to our lives? I pondered that this morning as it applied to my own life and I had a realization…or really, a revelation!
If you were to know me very well, then you would have heard me say at least once during our friendship that if you want to come visit me at my house you need to give me two weeks notice. Yes, that’s right, two weeks notice. The inference being that it would take me that long to straighten up so that I would feel comfortable letting you in. Okay, two weeks might be a bit of an exaggeration, but the point is my house is usually messy and I would be embarrassed if you just dropped by and started knocking on my door. (Don’t get sidetracked on me wondering why my house is messy, suffice it say we work from home and we have a dog.)
If you showed up on my doorstep unexpectedly, one of two things would happen. I would open the door just wide enough to pop outside and yes, we would have our conversation on the porch. Or, I just wouldn’t answer the door.
And that’s what I think happens sometimes when God comes knocking on our door. It’s messy inside. There’s probably some sin lying around. Maybe it’s really piled up and we only have a trail left between the mounds of trash we’ve collected in our lives. We’re embarrassed. We’re prideful. We want to clean up before we let Him in. The trouble is, we can’t clean it up without Him. He is the original Mr. Clean.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me, God.”
“Oh, hey God. You kinda caught me by surprise. Can you come back in a few weeks and give me some time to clean up?”
“Really, Lynne? Cause I was kind of thinking you’re going to need some help.”
“But, it’s really a mess in here.” Sniffle, sniffle. “I just don’t even know where to begin. There’s so much I don’t want you to see. I don’t even know how this happened, God. I just cleaned it last week!”
“How do you feel about it?”
“Really bad, God.”
“You sound remorseful, Lynne.”
“Oh, God, so remorseful. It’s embarrassing! I know I promised I would never let it get this bad again, and here I am. Please just come back later!”
“Please, just let me in.”
“You won’t love me.”
”Yes, I will.”
“You’ll make me clean it up myself, after all, I made the bed…or rather didn’t… you know what I mean!”
“I will clean it for you.”
“Who does that?”
”I do. Just ask.”
It’s amazing, really. I make a mess, as I am prone to do. God knocks. I confess that it’s a mess. I cry. He forgives. He cleans house. It’s better than before. Who does that? He does.
“Blessed are those whose transgressions are forgiven, whose sins are covered.”