For the last several weeks, I’ve been praying about doors.
Open doors.
Closed doors.
And perhaps most importantly, the wisdom to know the difference.
I’ve been praying for provision, guidance, rest, and ease.
Not necessarily answers.
Not certainty.
Just enough light for the next step.
Then something unexpected happened.
A door closed.
A man I had been looking forward to meeting in person texted to tell me that his life had become too full. A house purchase. Obligations. Logistics. A cruise. Too many moving pieces.
He was kind.
He was honest.
And he told me before we met.
Of course I was disappointed.
But strangely, I wasn’t devastated.
In fact, the message I felt impressed upon my heart that day was simple:
Wait. And trust.
That afternoon, I called a friend to ask if he could help me with my Honda Pioneer that hasn’t run for a long time.
A few hours later, he called back.
Not only did he know someone who could fix it, he was willing to come pick it up himself and take it there.
One door.
Then another.
That same day, I added an Amazon Wishlist to my sabbatical page.
I felt a little silly doing it.
The list contains practical things I genuinely need, like a new pair of flip-flops after my faithful Clarks finally gave up after years of service.
It also contains things that simply bring me joy.
Candles.
Books.
LEGO sets.
Small reminders that life is meant to be enjoyed, not merely endured.
Another door.
Meanwhile, people began showing up.
My mom shared my sabbatical page without hesitation.
Friends checked in.
A woman caring for her daughter in serious condition reminded me that prayer is sometimes the greatest gift.
My friend Saul told me he had been praying for me before I ever asked.
Then he shared something curious.
He told me he had seen a door open twice in a row while praying and felt like God was trying to show him something.
I laughed when I read it.
Because I had been praying about doors for a while.
Then I remembered a page from an old therapy journal.
A page I wrote years ago and had long forgotten.
I stared at that page for a long time.
Because I realized how much of my life has been spent staring at closed doors.
Relationships that didn’t work.
People who couldn’t meet me where I was.
Churches that disappointed me.
Jobs that ended.
Opportunities that vanished.
Dreams that changed shape.
Closed doors have a way of demanding our attention.
We study them.
Analyze them.
Question them.
Wonder if we should knock harder.
Wonder if we misunderstood.
Wonder if maybe they’re not actually closed.
Meanwhile, somewhere nearby, another door quietly swings open.
The funny thing is that I don’t actually know where these open doors lead.
The Pioneer isn’t fixed yet.
My dad hasn’t visited yet.
The sabbatical isn’t funded yet.
Creek Club hasn’t launched yet.
The man I hoped to meet is still living his own story.
And I still don’t know exactly what comes next.
But perhaps that’s the point.
Belief isn’t certainty.
Belief is trust.
Belief is laying down your weapons.
Belief is ceasing fire.
Belief is waiting for instructions.
Belief is relief.
Not because everything works out exactly the way we want.
But because we stop trying to force doors that were never ours to open.
So this week, I’m paying attention.
Not to the door that closed.
To the doors that are opening.
A phone call.
A prayer.
A breakfast invitation.
A shared post.
A repaired relationship.
A possibility.
A whisper.
A little more provision.
A little more guidance.
A little more rest.
A little more ease.
And for now, that feels like enough. 💗
A few songs I’ve made:
Pay attention. Be kind. Tell the truth.