Door Numbah Three.

Ok Jan, Jan Meyers. I had you sitting on my dresser for awhile, and I finally read you.  I started to read you and couldn't finish you about two years ago.  So I picked you up again and I am so glad I did.

 

Because your words are better than mine.  I pray that if you read this and you are in the same place I am (and I know you are out there) that these will encourage you as they did me from "The Allure of Hope":

 

"When a woman finds herself thrown out of the Restaurant of Hope, abandoned to the cold dark alleyway, she can pursue the path of "hovering".  Hunkering down over the steam grate, she can lower her expectations to the basement and try to be satisfied with merely surviving. Or she can pursue the path of "clamoring", trying in her own strength to make herself beautiful enough to be invited back into the restaurant.  This pathway is a dead end like the other.  But there is a third pathway.  The final option in the alleyway is an option that feels foolish.--the option of hopeful remembrance and vision.  Frederick Buechner says, 'The world can be kind, it can be cruel.  It can be beautiful, and it can be appalling.  It can give us good reason to hope, and good reason to give up all hope.  It can strengthen out faith in a loving God, and it can decimate our faith'.  The alleyway makes this clear. 

 

Choosing to respond to hope requires courage, vision and patience. The third path looks like this: "How sad.  How very sad. I've been ushered away from the meal I know the chef intended for me.  As I look around this alleyway, everything I see is cold, dark, and lonely.  I'm going to slowly look around at the harshness of this place, and then I will weep.  I will weep for what has been lost.  Then I will set my gaze through that back kitchen window. From just the right angle, I'm able to see the table where I once sat.  As the back door opens and closes, the aromas of the kitchen hit my senses and remind me of what I had.  I will not cover my eyes; I will not cover my nose.  I will allow myself to be reminded of what was.  And I will wait.  I will not wait merely for the meal to be restored to me --THAT MAY NEVER HAPPEN.  But I will wait for God.  It is His gaze, His care for me that haunts me, and His seeming abandonment that puzzles me.  In the waiting I will wrestle with my own personal dilemma with the chef.  And in the waiting I will offer my presence to those around me; I will find opportunities to love."