Knack or Knock

I was awoken at 7:00 this morning to the sound of a doorknob being rattled rather vigorously. Then there was the sound of the door trying to be opened with the rapid pulling in and out on the knob. This was followed by a thudding and banging on the door along with a pleading, halfway quiet, "Mom?" I didn't answer right away. Ryan's door always sticks. Always. One must possess the knack for opening it and I just figured that Heather, who was the perpetrator of the sleep disturbing racket as she was trying to ask Ryan something, must not have the knack. 

Actually, it wasn't all bad. My alarm goes off at 7:00AM anyhow and so what else could I do but go investigate. As I trudged back the upstairs hallway, I muttered something along the lines of, "You just aren't doing it right...I do this about every single morning...and why does he always have his door closed so tight anyhow?..What if there was a fire?...Yeah, like he'd jump out the window...Here, let me try."

You see, I was quite confident in my knack. I had opened this door many times over the years we've lived here. First when Adrienne and Aaron shared the room, then when it was just Aaron's room, and now, as Ryan's room. I grasped the doorknob, lifted it just slightly, then hit the door with my shoulder.

Nothing.

I jiggled the knob and jerked on it, hitting the door a few more times for emphasis. Still, nothing. And my shoulder was starting to understand the "ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK" sign. After confirming with Ryan, who was surprisingly calm and seemingly unfazed by being trapped inside his bedroom, that the door wasn't somehow locked, I asked him to see if he could get the pin from the hinges loose.

Nope. Somebody (it may have been me...) may have just painted them fast. Even a smooth and speckled rock from a beach vacation, now serving as a doorstop, wasn't able to knock them loose. This same somebody may have also done that with the lock mechanism and now (I have no idea how) the little thingie that is supposed to be pushed over to lock the door is actually missing and there is just an empty space. So, obviously the door was not locked in the traditional sense. However, it was unconventionally locked and for all intent and purpose, Ryan was stuck.

There isn't really even much of a crack under the door that I could have slipped crackers to him. I could maybe slip a straw through the keyhole and he could get a drink. It's amazing really how a brain thinks when your baby boy is locked away in his room.

Baby boy/teenager...whatever.

I asked him if he had anything on his side that he could try to pry the door latch with. I could hear him shuffling about and riffling through something. Then, a scratching sound. I waited for about 15.3 seconds and with a quick turn of the doorknob and a tug on the door, Ryan was free. He had found his pocket knife from Christmas and used the blade to remove the lock box contraption thing on the door (think: old farmhouse door and maybe you can picture what I mean). Once this was off, it somehow released the latch.

Well, whaddya know, this man-child of mine has the knack. If I wasn't here, he would have figured it out. That makes me sad-happy. He's growing up, resourceful and knackful (I think that should be a word in Webster's dictionary.)



All of this got me thinking. Sometimes I think I am all resourceful.

I don't need anybody.

But really, I do.

I need somebody on the inside helping me to get it done. Somebody to help me when I feel weak and I can't help myself. Somebody who has the right tools.

 God, I need God in my life. I'm trapped in my own sin and selfishness otherwise. I am so beyond thankful that God does not have an "ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK" sign on his door, his door is never locked or shut so tightly that I can't have access. All I have to do is knock. And that's better than having the knack.

  “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

Love,
Dianne