We lock our doors for protection—of our belongings, of our privacy, of our loved ones, of our own selves.
We lock our doors out of fear—of intrusion, of harm, of damage, of theft.
We lock our doors out of upbringing, training, habit, and good old fashioned common sense.
Locks make sense, both literally and metaphorically. It’s wise to protect our home from robbers. It’s wise to protect our hearts from those who would only do harm.
On occasion a literal lock can cause problems. Like when my young mom accidentally locked me in the car as a baby and a really sketchy-looking but kind-hearted thug expertly jimmied the door open. Metaphorical locks on the doors of our hearts commonly cause problems, like when they keep us isolated, unreachable by love and connection with others.
Part of the good news is that Jesus is no respecter of locked doors. If he wants in, he’s coming in.
This gives me great hope, that even when my heart is at its hardest, when my soul is locked down like a safe room and I’m not even sure where I left the key, that Jesus can still find his way in.
