The Closed Door

There’s a place called Forever, and a door called Time that Death shuts hard in your face.

 Sometimes, at a distance, we can see that door slowly swinging closed. More often it gets slammed. We feel its force. The weight. It startles, shakes us. The finality is disorienting. And we are powerless to open it up again.

I thought my mom would live forever. Really, I did. Who can imagine life without the woman whose very body held your beginning? I wasn’t aware of this ancient belief hidden in the depths of me. I never articulated it, or even consciously considered it. But it was there.

My earliest memories are of my mom. She was my world. She played with me, sang to me, read to me. She showed me the world. Years later, divorce, single parenting, re-marriage and a new stepfamily altered my life and my relationship with her. Then came her multiple adoptions: young babies and children from all over the globe. I was young and newly married when she began preparing for life on the mission field in Africa. An orphanage was started in Uganda and she lived there for 10 years. After a brief return and time in the States, she went on to Thailand for the next two years. I’ll never forget the day when the phone rang and I was surprised to hear her voice as she began with, “Amy, I just had an emergency mastectomy…”.  She began making plans to come back to the U.S. for further treatment. My mom had been overseas my entire adult life. She had missed so very much. She was finally coming home.

But then, she didn’t come home. At least not where I called home. She landed in Texas and bought a house. She started making friends and started taking chemo. This would be her new life: fighting death. At Christmas my husband gave me a plane ticket to Texas. For several days, as an adult, I had my mom again. She made breakfast for me, went shopping with me, and took me out to lunch. It was wild—I could hardly believe it—and wonderful. Two years later and I was back on a plane again to Texas. Her cancer would no longer be pacified. It had taken nearly everything away from her: her beauty, her sparkle, her humor, her strength, her joy. I had come to say goodbye to what was left lingering behind.

I still can see her. Her body ravaged by and bursting open with tumors. Her beauty marred so severely, I barely recognized her. I held her hands and rubbed her cheek. I can’t remember how many times I wept the words, “I love you, Mom”, and kissed her, never feeling like it was enough for me. It would never be enough. I had to go. I had to catch my plane and head back to my life, my children, my world. But my heart was still, after all these years, so tightly knitted to hers that as I pulled away it felt like it was being ripped right out of me.

She was supposed to live forever…or at least long enough for me to make more memories with her. Not until she died did I realize the far-away, some-day hope I held onto. I dreamed; I dare believed that one day we’d be together again. I’d get to have her to myself or share her with my children. We’d have time to share, to talk, to laugh. There were questions still unanswered. There still are.

 In the ordinary moments of everyday living comes the raw realization that she’s not available. She’ll never be available.

There’s a place called Forever, and a door called Time that Death shuts hard in your face.

But Jesus.

 He is able to open that Door of Time because He alone is The Way. He tells Death to stand down and to stand aside, while He escorts His own to that place called Forever. The Door of Time is temporary. Jesus is The True Door. Not only is He the entrance into Forever, He is the very best part of that place too. He’s the Doorway to all the dreams and yearnings and longings of your heart that you expected to be fulfilled in this life…and weren’t. Jesus satisfies like nothing in this world can. It’s impossible for us to even begin to imagine the complete contentment, the sheer, unending joy:  “…eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined, what God has prepared for those who love Him.” 1 Corinthians 2:9

So maybe, like me, there are hard things, disappointing things that Time has closed in on you. Maybe Death has put a barrier between you and someone you have loved. There’s an empty finality to it all…but only on this Side of Eternity. “For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison.” 2 Corinthians 4: 17

There’s a place called Forever, and The Door called Jesus has it wide open for you.

“Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God Himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” Revelation 21: 1-4