You’ve probably
Heard the saying:
“When God closes a door,
He opens a window.”

It was popularized
By the movie
The Sound of Music.
It kind of became
Non-canonized scripture.
Meant to console.

My youngest
Shut a door once.
He shut it
On one of his siblings,
But not before
He wrote these notes
On Post-its
And put them
On the outside.

“Please stay out”
“Because you keep kicking me”

Oof.

Have you ever had a door
Slammed in your face?
Even if you deserved it
Like my child
Who kept kicking people?

I’m not sure
Anyone enjoys that.

It might feel mean
And abrupt.
Painful.
Like a brass door knocker
Smacking your nose
Just as you were about to enter.
Because you thought
It was the right way.
And then it wasn’t.
It doesn’t seem loving
At first glance.
So why would God do that?

And another thing:

When I was little
I would draw houses.
And the windows
Were always much smaller
Than the door.

And so
In my mind,
If someone was trying to console me
With
“When God closes a door,
He opens a window”
It didn’t feel very consoling-ish.

I thought it meant
That He would refuse admittance
Closing you off entirely
Not unlike my son’s Post-it sign.

Or

He would say no
To a big opportunity
And give you a smaller one
Like a consolation prize.
A ribbon
Instead of a trophy.

Or

Maybe He would say no
To something,
But He would
Leave a window open
A teeny tiny crack
Where you could escape.
But only by twisting yourself
Into knots
To barely fit
And to squeeeeeeze through
As if through a tunnel
That was too small
And after great effort
On your part.

And frankly
That didn’t make me feel better
When my first choice
Was to easily walk
Upright
Through a tall-enough
Human-sized door.

But I have learned
That in reality,
Sometimes
Doors do close,
For whatever reason.
Maybe it’s God’s hand
And maybe it’s someone
Or something
Else.

And I’ve also learned that
Sometimes
When we’re ready,
God will gently and lovingly
Turn our gaze sideways
So we can see
The gift of “Instead.”

As in:
Instead of whatever
Was behind the door,
Here’s what I’m giving you.

And He pours
Waterfalls of blessings
Out upon you.
So abundant
That they might consume you.
Roaring water
Cascading
Into more water
Like Niagara Falls.

And over time,
Whatever was behind the door
Becomes a faint memory
Of
Oh yeah,
I wanted that
Once.

And I hope
That I don’t get so focused
On the door
And the brass door knocker
And my (valid) anger
And my disappointment
And blaming whomever
Or whatever closed the door,
That I refuse to allow Him
To touch my chin
And gently
Direct my gaze
To my right
To see the waterfall
He has prepared for me
Instead.

I hope I don’t miss out
On truly experiencing
The abundance of blessings
Just because
I’m focusing on a closed door
Instead looking over there.

So perhaps it’s true
Sometimes:

Sometimes He closes a door
And He opens a window.

But perhaps it’s also true:

That sometimes
He closes a door
And then
He gives you Niagara Falls.