Oct
29
2019
The Swinging Door
Posted in Faith 4 Comments
When my granddaughter comes to Grandma’s house, she knows what she wants to do.
She opens the toy chest to make her selection.
She likes to play with the small marble roller in the dining room.
She likes to read books.
I have raised five children in this house.
The plug caps are still in the outlets.
Since my decorating is in a country style, there is not much that can be damaged.
Things are old already and a little wear gives them even more character.
There are only a few fragile things.
There are paper mache ostrich eggs in an old wooden bowl on the coffee table.
They are not fragile but a hole can easily be poked in them.
There are old milk bottles in an antique carrier in the kitchen.
In the dining room, on the large window sill, there is an antique doll.
She belonged to my aunt; the doll is about 90 years old.
That doll is never touched by little hands.
She sits on the window seat, keeping watch and brings me back to another time.
When my oldest daughters were young, they received a gift from their grandmother.
Knowing that we were reading the Little House On The Prairie books, the gift was appropriate.
My oldest daughter received the Mary Ingalls doll.
My middle daughter received the Laura Ingalls doll.
The dolls came with a certificate of authenticity.
They were a, sit-on-the-shelf, kind of doll.
Each of my girls had that special doll on their shelf.
Mary was holding apples in the folds of her dress and Laura was holding books.
My girls loved to look at the dolls that appeared to be just like the story we were reading.
They loved that Laura and Mary were sisters, just like them.
They loved that they each received the doll that coincided with their age.
It was a special gift.
When my daughters moved into an apartment together, the dolls stayed here.
Somehow, they ended up on the dining room window sill.
They kept watch next to my aunt’s antique baby doll.
Now the next generation is discovering the wonder of these beautiful dolls.
My granddaughter will run into the dining room and wave to the dolls.
She learned to just look at them.
She has so many other things to play with, it is fine that a few things are not toys.
One day, I noticed that she had tiny apples in her hand.
I knew then that the fold of Mary’s dress was not a place for the apples any longer.
I had a tiny basket that would be perfect.
I placed the six apples in the tiny basket.
I placed the tiny basket on Mary’s arm.
My daughter and granddaughter came over on the weekend.
Between our kitchen and dining room is a swinging door.
That door is usually closed at nighttime, unless we are eating in the dining room.
I saw my granddaughter walk into the foyer.
We were talking in the kitchen.
I heard her sweet little voice, which sounded upset.
Gamma, she cried.
Gamma, Gamma, I heard, sounding a bit frightened.
I walked into the foyer and looked into the dining room.
There she was, holding the basket of apples in her hand.
She was standing in front of the swinging door.
She did not know how to open it by herself.
All of our doors have lovely, brass, S-shaped door knobs.
She is an expert at opening them and is quite proud of herself when she does.
This door is different.
This door is large, with no doorknob; it has to be pushed to be opened or closed.
Oh, sweetheart, Grandma is right here, I said tenderly.
She looked so relieved to see me.
It was a large door with no visible way to get through.
She was on one side and I was on the other.
Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened. (Matthew 7:7,8)
Hearing my little granddaughter say my name is a gift.
Whenever I hear her call my name, I am attentive to her cry.
Whenever I hear her call my name, I go to her to see what she needs.
Whenever I hear her call my name, my heart is filled with joy.
How much more, God?
Can you imagine how God the Father feels when we call His name?
Can you imagine the attention He gives to our cry?
Can you fathom the way He meets all of our needs, as He sees fit?
I have been that little girl on the other side of the door.
So have you.
I have called out to God, my Father, to come and rescue me.
I have called His name so He will open the door for me.
Just as I delight in hearing my name, God delights in hearing us call to Him.
Just as I run to my granddaughter when I hear her cry, God runs to His children.
He opens the door for those who believe.
All it takes is one sincere, repentant heart cry to God our Father, in Jesus’ name.
Call to Him.
He hears you.
He is attentive to your cry.
He will open the door for you.
I was just listening to Alistair Begg talking about the father in the story of The Prodigal Son, he ran to his son. He said God is a running God as you said God runs to his children. He is not a stuffy judge behind the bench as we sometimes picture him. What a lovely thought
God does run to us, Paula, when we call out to Him.
That image, in the parable, of the undignified father running to his son is precious to me.
That is the kind of Father God is when His children call to Him.
Gina
Grandchildren are such a joy! A gift!
They sure are, Nancy!