Once a week, I drive 45 minutes to another part of my city to play guitar and sing with my dear friend, Avery.
A few months ago, God opened an oddly unexpected and beautiful door. I imagine that it is huge and bright teal, with a brassy, golden doorknob and no window, because what’s on the other side is too beautiful to be previewed ahead of time.
Like this one, via Apartment Therapy:
I like to think it is a door that has brought me deeper into the heart of God.
After the Listen To Your Mother production was over, I looked around that backstage area and wondered, What will be next for us, for each other, with each other? What will come of this?
Oh, friends, He chases after us, and He finds us, doesn’t He?
My friend Rachel described it as holes that each of us has inside of us, and the miracle is that we find each other and we fill those holes when we turn those brassy doorknobs and step across the threshold.
A number of us stood around her kitchen island, and she and I wiped tears from our eyes, because we knew that God had done something good.
I’ve been asked for years to give guitar lessons and for years, I’ve said no.
But this time, the invitation was different.
And this time, it was a beautiful, full cycle of blessing, like watching the seed planted in good soil grow up to full bloom.
I asked God for a little provision.
I asked God to keep using these gifts that He’s given me to hold on to.
I asked God to move and be.
Avery and I have had a handful of lessons, and while I can tell you that she progresses beautifully,
something so good and holy happens in me, too.
On that 45 minute drive,
I have time to remember.
I have time to process,
then to be silent.
I have time to watch the exit signs of my city pass by me,
to know that I’ve been placed and grounded here, just like my friends have.
Don’t be afraid to try the most beautiful doors.
Don’t be afraid to ask, to wonder, and to dream.
What do you imagine is waiting on the other side?
All I can see is life, a sacred journey that is covered in kindnesses, in open spaces and the full reality of God’s hand holding me.
And for the last year in this new place, that’s all I’ve needed, and knowing the reality of His kindness, that’s all I’ll ever need.