Closed Doors, Open Windows: If God Were My Handy Man I Would’ve Fired Him Already
I am not a huge fan of the saying, “God won’t close a door without opening a window.”
I mean, it’s a lovely thought. That He, the God of all, is up on high organizing bigger and better things… with a Phillip’s Head screwdriver and a can of WD-40.
Yes, If only there was a mechanical explanation for why all the hinges on windows and doors in my life appear to be firmly fastened.
And, If only I was perfect, sinless, then maybe windows would fling wide, doors would fall off their hinges, and the world would be my oyster, or lobster, not really a fan of seafood, but whatever. This type of If/Then theology left me heartbroken and spent. I was trying, really, I was trying really hard. But I always fell short of what I deemed “perfect.” And I just knew, that must be why things were so hard.
And why they hurt so much.
Surely, I was being refined. With doors slamming in my face, the crash rattling my teeth and the cold bang reverberating in my ears, surely a window would soon open.
Alas, I am not one to climb in random windows, so I was left to wonder, even if there is an eventual window, will my butt fit through it? Does God accommodate the proverbial secondary opportunities with allowances for size 14 hips?
So I went to work on myself. Digging at my bellybutton. Listing my sins in a specific order, sins I believed dire to less than. I halfheartedly went to work fixing myself because I didn’t know I was made whole, blameless when my Jesus breathed His last on that old rugged cross and rose three days later.Does God accommodate the proverbial secondary opportunities with allowances for size 14 hips? Click To Tweet
I must have believed the cross worked, or I wouldn’t have believed the shortcomings could be so easily forgiven, again… come Monday.
I mean come on…
Doesn’t it seem unlikely? Isn’t it far-fetched? That this God is up there breathing on windows and doors while bad, no wicked things keep happening? Alone with my thoughts, all I can wonder is… why?
It seems so logical to do things my way. My way is of simple benefit. Checkbooks balance, houses sell on time, “friends” never turn into… something not so friendly, and there is absolutely no such thing as cellulite or childhood cancer. Also, chocolate and REAL coke, when served over crushed ice, have no calories.
In this state of brokenness, as I sipped and thrived on every single last calorie in an ice cold two-liter bottle of Coke, it is easy to be mad or sad. Face it, I have felt really hurt because, it seems like, He just isn’t listening.
And a good and kind heavenly Father… He would listen.
Kick open a door, bust through a window and help a girl out with stuff… stuff that is really hard.
In spite of my doubts, maybe even because of them, there was a light breeze that seemed to be rattling the window panes. The smell of hope wafted under the door jam. It smelled a little like rain, chocolate chip cookies, honeysuckle, and purple sweet pea.
I guess I was waiting to post this post until I could declare, “It is finished!!” But the tempest is building, detriment or triumph won’t be the thing that moves me. I will not be an If/Then kind of girl. The doors are tightly shut, the hatches battened down… and curled up in a corner I feebly wait for a window to fling wide.
I neglect my caloric commitments and sip whole calorie cola from a yellow straw. I wish it was pink or blue, somehow, like the fat straws at McDonald’s, Coke tastes better when all the accessories are just right.
Waiting is the hardest part.
It is terribly irritating, like an itch I cannot scratch.
I confess, I have gone to my car, turned up the radio and hit play on 99 Red Balloons, the German version, and screamed at the top of my lungs, “MOOOOOOOOOOOVE!” And then, I stood strong in my faith and waited patiently… for the song to finish.
Dissolved in tears and resolved to no window opening, I have teetered in my beliefs. I won’t lie, we’ve come too far. I have been mad, sad, disgusted, hurt, hopeful, devoted, steadfast, and utterly broken.
What makes a believer choose to keep believing?
No really, I want to know?
What makes us, who many times do not get the very thing we need most from Him, what makes us keep believing?
The hope of a window?
Wide, plus-sized windows. Crisp cold cola on the other side, and someone who has been where you are and says hard things, believes in the impossible and isn’t afraid to ask you to persevere… keep believing, no matter what.
Algorithms may be hypersensitive to the name of Jesus. Book sales and viral posts may succumb to a generation of YouTube watchers. But there are still some of us, the majority I believe, who still hope, and frankly still believe. We keep reading the Word, listening, and seeking more of Him… and more believers, much like us.
Believing when He doesn’t do it the way we think would be sane.
Steadfast when we are hurting, and yes, questioning.
Unreserved humans who can’t help but wholeheartedly love the precious name… Adonai.
The issue is not Christianity, the issue doesn’t lie with God, the issue is humanity, and a human heart weary of the wait. Good things happen, bad things happen, and He remains. In the struggle for words or songs, He is still there.
He is still darling and daring, bold, precious, and true.
On days when I haven’t got it in me to believe, He sends a friend, who is having a better day, and she’ll remind me today… and then I will take my turn and remind her tomorrow. And yes, that is the body of believers. Dragging one another to the finish line. Hoping when the window opens, and the answer finally comes it will make perfect sense.
So I post this with a weary spirit. But I hear the roar, a collective cry of believers, praying for me, and I will, in turn, pray for them. Not because they or I am perfect, but because we believe in the Perfect One.
Disillusionment is the norm. Fake, shallow, yes men may rise in the ranks, however, most of us real folks see right through them.
I pretend to harvest their organs and sell them on eBay.
Whatever, there is no condemnation where I am sitting… here on the floor, hiding behind a door, waiting for a window.
I will humbly wait for readers to read and hearers to hear… and the collective hum… Amen.
For while most authors think they need readers, I am an author thankful for friends. Real, relevant, passionate, hard thinking, bold questioning, skinny, fat, pretty, plain, hurting, joyful, tried and true partners in belief.
Join me, I’ll sign up to drag you to the finish line… right after I finish this Coke.
May your floors be sticky and your calling ordained. Love, Jami
A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for a time of adversity. Proverbs 17:17
Introducing my new friend, Carey Scott. Carey and I are taking over where my sister and I left off on the Podcast! Our new podcast “Stuff Left Said: Authentic Talk We Can’t Take Back” is coming! We have already started recording our intro and trailer, and we have a list going a mile long for episodes, guests, and giveaways. Y’all, we even have a SPONSOR!!! If you visit them and use the coupon code jami at checkout, you’ll get 50% off your first one month supply! Follow this link to learn more!!!
Carey is cut from the same cloth as me. She is a breath of fresh air in a room full of dirty socks. She is the writer I hope to be and of grand character.
Carey is a truth seeker and life speaker. In the short time, I have known her we have taken turns dragging each other to the finish line. She picked me up and dusted me off today… and then she sat me down and said… “Write.” Take a moment and follow us on our Facebook page at Stuff Left Said Podcast. That way you will get all the 411 on the upcoming stuff that we have planned, and you won’t miss an episode. We want this podcast to be the real thing, cause fake sucks. And most of us really just want a Coke. Write on our wall and let us know you are signed up and/or following, we will enter you to win prizes! I can’t wait to start this new journey with you! Love, Jami
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