Surprised By An Open Door

I used to have an older gentleman repair my clocks.
He would come to our house to work on the grandfather clock.
I would bring my mantle clock to him.
He was retired when I first brought my clock to him; he was going to work a few more years.

I had to find someone new.
I found a woodworking shop in my favorite place of Amish buggies.
The woodworking shop also repairs clocks.
I drove with my mantle clock in the car.

As I drove, my clock chimed every fifteen minutes.
It was the sound of home.
The mantle clock is not broken but it is running very slow.
I wind my clocks every Monday and by Thursday, the mantle clock is about five minutes behind.

I found the woodworking shop on a small back road.
The landscaping was colorful and meticulous.
Farmland was behind the property, which had quite a few outbuildings.
The shop itself was neat and clean with everything in its place.

A few dogs that were on the property barked in a friendly way when I arrived.
No one was in sight.
I walked into the shop.
Hello, I said once and then a bit louder the second time but no one answered.

The house that was on the property had clothes hanging on the line.
I am fascinated with Amish clotheslines; there is such order in the way the clothes are hung.
I decided to walk on the front porch and knock on the door.
A sweet young woman came to the door with a friendly smile.

The young woman came outside in her bare feet.
She was able to walk on the grass or the gravel with ease.
She pointed me in the direction of another building that I could try.
The men are here but I do not know where they were at that moment, she said.

Her hair was pulled back and I noticed that it went all the way down to her knees.
She was neat and clean and was wearing an apron.
I wondered what I interrupted when I knocked on the door.
Her features were plain but so lovely.

I knocked at the other door she suggested but there was still no answer.
I walked back towards my car, which was the only vehicle for miles around.
I saw a buggy parked in a stall near the barn.
I began to hear sounds coming from the shop.

I walked inside the large barn doors.
A young Amish man saw me.
He stopped what he was doing and came to talk to me.
I told him about my clock that needed repair.

We went towards my car and I got the mantle clock from the back.
He took the clock from me and we walked back into the shop.
He wanted me to write my name and phone number on a piece of paper.
There was no receipt; there was nothing formal about the transaction.

I had a clock that needed repair and they can repair it.
My name and phone number written on a piece of paper was sufficient.
I then remembered that I left the key that winds the clock back home.
It was sitting in a little Longaberger basket on the mantle.

I actually left the key on my mantle at home, I said annoyed at myself .
Will you need the key in order to repair my clock? I asked already knowing the answer.
We will; you can just put it here when you bring it back, he said pointing to a counter.
Knowing the next day was Saturday, I asked him if they would be open.

No, we will be at the auction, he said; I remembered seeing the auction signs as I drove there.
You mean the door will be unlocked? I asked a bit surprised.
Yes, just open the door and put the key here, he said pointing to the same spot.
I looked around at all the wood and the equipment and marveled at his attitude.

There was a code of honor here.
There was no formality.
My name and phone number on a piece of paper was enough.
His word can be trusted.

I have an old Shaker quote hanging in my kitchen.
Hands to work. Hearts to God.
I thought about those words as I got into my car.
That is what is practiced here.

I drove home and got the key out of the Longaberger basket.
I drove back to the woodworking shop.
The same meticulous landscaping, the same clothes on the line.
The same friendly barking of dogs, the same buggy parked in a stall near the barn.

The shop was empty again.
Hello, I said repeating it a bit louder the second time.
I walked to the door I just exited thirty minutes before.
I turned the knob; it was unlocked just as he said.

There on the counter was my clock with the piece of paper neatly tucked underneath.
I placed the key in a plastic sandwich bag, which had my name and phone number on it.
I slid the plastic bag underneath my clock, right next to the paper.
No formality, no red tape, just a code of honor that a job will be well done.

May the favor of the Lord our God rest upon us; establish the work of our hands for us – yes, establish the work of our hands. (Psalm 90:17)

How much better our work would be if we trusted God to establish the work of our hands.
There is futility in toiling in our own strength.
We are always looking over our shoulder.
We mistrust others.

What if we had an open door policy like the woodworking shop I visited?
What if our word was enough?
What if all formality was laid aside for the sake of honor?
Can you imagine the difference?

It was foreign to be in that environment.
It was so refreshing.
I am sure the work done on my clock will be excellent.
The open door makes me want to go back again.

To whom can you open your door?
To whom can you give your word and know that your word is enough?
Who establishes the work of your hands?
May the flavor of the Lord our God rest upon us.