How to Engage with Jesus as the Door? | John 10:9

        A college friend of my husband used to do a special practice. Every morning, she would wake up and spend time in bed talking to Jesus. Beginning her day with a simple, "Good morning, Jesus," she carried out this routine consistently for a year and a half. Each day, at 4 a.m., for 5 minutes, she would engage in this heartfelt conversation.

Then, on a surprising and joyous day, Jesus actually came in person to talk with her, much to her surprise & the delight of every listener. She found Jesus sitting on the edge of her bed, physically present and smiling as if He had been waiting just for her, like in the picture here. This unexpected event showed how their strong bond and her dedication led to this special moment.

The Comforter Art Print by Greg Olsen

            Here is something I have been practicing lately, which I would like to call 'Engaging with Jesus - The Door'. John 10:9 states that Jesus is the door. 

I am the door. If anyone enters by Me, he will be saved, and will go in and out and find pasture.

So how did I start to practice this?

It was my husband who gave me the idea of engaging with Jesus as the door. One day, he asked me to imagine a door in front of me, believing it was Jesus. The concept of engaging with Jesus as a door was something I had never considered before, and I found myself drawn to this new idea. Closing my eyes, I visualized a dark brown wooden door in the canvas of my imagination. Guiding me through each step, he led me to place my left palm on the knob and gently push it open, revealing a brilliant golden light on the other side.

As he continued, the image of the door and the radiant light came to life in my mind. I couldn't help but marvel at the power of imagination and its potential for such an intimate and profound encounter with the divine. Upon opening the door, I found myself instantly inside Jesus's office room. A large wooden table and a chair were positioned behind it. Surprisingly, the table was empty, prompting me to reflect on how God's word never returns void proving He alone is God. Every prayer reaches Him, and He doesn't leave any matter unresolved from His end.

Seated on the wooden chair was Jesus, with an angel beside Him on his left. His beaming countenance drew my gaze, while the angel's evident elation in my presence warmed my heart. Contemplating my next move, I noticed Jesus gesturing for me to take a seat. Three wooden chairs were arranged opposite Him, and I moved the one on the right slightly back before settling down across from God Himself. A smile spread across my face as He returned it with matchless warmth. Although I had much to express, I felt uncertain about where to begin. Consequently, He extended His hands, palms upward, onto the table.

Without hesitation, I grasped the opportunity and held His hands. I saw the dark wood visible through the holes in His wrists — the only imperfection in His otherwise flawless body, and it served as a reminder of His sacrifice so that I could achieve perfection as He is. Gently, I squeezed His hands, my cheeks adorned with tears that journeyed down and found rest upon the table's surface. For a moment, I pondered how tears could escape through tightly closed eyes. Then, I started to pour out everything that burdened my heart. The small things, the significant matters, the intriguing, and even the embarrassing ones —I presented it all before him like a confidant baby to his mother. Throughout, I sensed Jesus listening attentively, devoid of interruption or impatience. I felt His perfect peace wash over me as I finished venting. Indeed, I had taken my time.

Then, it was His turn to speak. As His soft voice reached my ears, I found it to be the most exquisite voice in existence - tender yet so so powerful. Every word He uttered was exactly what I needed to hear— everything that my heart and soul sought. His words contained instructions, assurances, solace, and gentle reprimands—each a gift of profound significance. Another angel, positioned to His right at a smaller table, diligently transcribed not only my spoken words but also my thoughts, desires, requests, and prayers. After inscribing my words, the angel meticulously added Jesus's own words and the promises He had spoken to me. When His words had been fully spoken, He turned to me and inquired if I was prepared to follow the path He had laid out in His discourse. Tearfully, I nodded my affirmation, whispering, 'Always, Lord!'

He shifted His gaze to the angel on his left and signaled for the scroll. Taking it into His hands, He bestowed His kingly approval with a stamp, and  graced it with His signature, 'Yeshua Hamasiach,' penned in His beautiful handwriting, for He is altogether beautiful. Then He handed it to the angel on His left. This meticulous process ensured that the promises and guidance detailed in the scroll would come to fruition in my life. With a nod and a smile towards me, and a solemn sense of duty towards my Lord, the angel departed to ensure that what was needed would take place, just as Jesus had approved. I remained seated, my heart full of gratitude for His unwavering promises and words that held steadfast, never returning void. Before my eyes, I witnessed the unfolding of these petitions and requests in my life, just as Jesus had promised through His divine word.

As time stretched on during my engagement with Him, I gradually opened my eyes. Several precious minutes had slipped by, and my husband had thoughtfully stepped away, leaving me to commune with Jesus in my own personal way. It was at that moment I realized that this physical world, as real as it may seem, is only a smaller facet of the vast spiritual realm we inhabit. The minutes I spent with Jesus felt more palpable and substantial in the realm of my imagination than the tangible surroundings that enveloped me. The desire for more of these encounters lingered within me, a longing that I carried forward into the days ahead.

Does our imagination matter?

Our thoughts are words in the spiritual realm. That is why we must be careful with them. Scripture instructs us to renew our mind and bring every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ. In the realm of the spiritual, our imagination holds the power to shape reality. The Holy Spirit stands ever-ready, eager to engage with us. What God earnestly desires from us is honesty and consecration, the practice of discipline and unwavering consistency — with total submission and surrender of our hearts to Him. 

If we steadfastly uphold these principles, Jesus will meet us at the threshold of our faith, just as He did with my husband's college friend. In a world characterized by rapidity and the ceaseless influx of fleeting thoughts and images, God's desire remains unchanged—to commune with us individually, intimately. Amid the clamor of the mundane, let us challenge the norms of the day and instead follow Jesus on a path of meditation, consecration, discipline, and steadfast consistency. In doing so, we invite life-changing encounters that not only transform us personally but also fortify the collective body of Christ.

As we listen to these incredible stories, let's think: Are we ready for our own adventure with Jesus? 

It would mean staying committed and dedicated,  sacrificing a lot and staying on course, and most importantly letting Him in one hundred percent. In doing that, we might find a special connection with God that's even better than we thought, quite contrary to the religious picture of faith painted by modern day Pharisees. So, let's not just watch these stories from a distance. Let's take a brave step and see what amazing things can happen when we let Jesus be Lord of our life, for real!

Shared Vision: Part I

 Here is a funny story my father told me that he heard at a sermon in church. I hope it helps you in some way.

    Long ago, when mirrors were an alien thing, lived a man and his wife. After a day's work in the nearby town, the man would walk through the woods in the evening back to his small village. The setting sun painted golden shadows through the treetops onto the tall grass and well-worn path that had been made by countless foot travelers like him. As he walked past the lush grass and trees, he noticed a glimmer in his peripheral vision. Turning around, he spotted something glinting between the grass leaves. With each furtive step he doubted his decision, but curiosity prevailed and he ventured closer to investigate. He stood over the source of the glimmer — a strange object that reflected the light of the golden hour. The light seemed to dim, revealing a dusty surface. He reached for it as if it held indescribable secrets, and discovered a startling figure trapped within. Not knowing that it was a mirror and it was his reflection, he carefully wiped it clean. The man in the mirror reflected his own surprise. When he noticed a striking resemblance between the reflection and his blood relatives, perhaps even a long-lost brother, a feeling stirred within him that he could not explain. He carefully stashed the reflective enigma in his cloth bag and hurried home. 

    It was visibly dark when he came home late to his wife waiting patiently at the entrance of their modest home. While his wife set out food on the table and the children laughed, he took a moment to refresh himself and secretly hid the mirror beneath a pile of worn clothes under the cot. The three children enjoyed the simple dinner and frolicked around. After serving him a warm porridge, his wife gently massaged his tired feet as a silent expression of her care - a daily routine born of deep affection. Their bond was obvious – even their oldest, just 7 years young, could see it. As he lay in the cot, his wife's touch calming him, he thought about the mysterious man in the mirror. Should he share this news with his wife? Perhaps to his brothers. Or he could ask the man himself tomorrow on his way to the town, he thought. But who is he? Does he have a wife, perhaps a family? Lost in his thoughts, the tired man fell asleep. Sensing his contemplation, his wife saw the fatigue in his countenance. She held back her questions, understanding his need for rest. She longed for their conversations. She missed talking to him about life and the little things. She missed him in that way, but she also knew how much he sacrificed for her and the children. She let him rest as he drifted off to sleep, hoping that the mirror man would not make a sound, and even if he did, the clothes would stifle his cry. 

    The next day, when the darkness still lingered, making the faces indistinguishable, and when the moon kept its position in the sky, the man got up on time, as usual, and got ready for the day's work. He threw his bag over his shoulder, filled with food and water that his loving wife had prepared the night before. As on all workdays, he set out while his family was still asleep, guided by the soft glow of a lantern in the early morning haze. As the first rays of sunlight cast its light, he remembered what he had forgotten at home. Turning back was out of the question, as he was more than halfway there, and missing a day's work was not an option. He fervently hoped and wished that his family would not find the mirror and determined to take care of it when he returned home that day.

 In the morning, his wife sent the two older children to school, and after nursing her third child, she put her off to sleep. She looked around, wondering how to pass the time, since she had already finished preparing the food and there was no laundry for the day. Her searching gaze landed under the cot and she thought of sorting out the pile of disheveled clothes that lay underneath. As she took out the first pile, her careful eyes noticed that someone other than she had arranged it. Since she was home all day and did not have much to do except cook and take care of the kids and their little two-room house, she KNEW her house and could notice if anything was out of order. She reached for the pile, and as she carelessly tossed the first pile aside, she heard something click. A pile of clothes would not make a noise, would it? Curious but cautious, she took the clothes apart one by one and saw that there was something under the pile. She opened it and to her surprise found a wooden item with a handle. Somewhat confused and afraid, she took the handle and examined it. When she turned it to the other side, she let out a scream and threw it onto the pile of clothes. What was that? Should she run out and call the neighbors? Did she see a woman in there? Who is she and how did she get there? Why is she hiding under our bed, and in a what-is-that thing, too? An array of questions flashed through her mind as she dodged the inevitable doubt - did her husband hide her there? He'd never do that! She knew her husband and how much he loved her and her children. But this! She picked up the mirror and looked at the woman in the mirror. She almost spit in disgust as the other woman looked at her with disdain. "Who are you?" she asked. Shockingly, when she asked the question, she felt the mirror blurt the same back at her. They were both seething with anger at each other. Let me just throw it away, she thought. When she had almost decided to do it, she reasoned, "Why don't I confront my husband about it when he gets home tonight? 

    

The day didn't seem to end for her, as each minute passed very slowly, and her mind buzzed with a million questions about the consequences of a broken marriage, a crumbling house. She cried, she comforted herself, she nursed her baby when she woke up, and fretted about their future and the shame their children would soon face. She remembered how her mother had persuaded her to consider the other marriage proposal, and how she pushed for it, saying, "He seems like a real family man." Oh no, but men will be men! Or how could this fate befall her of all people? She was the faithful wife, the naïve woman who could never think of another man. Her husband, on the other hand, couldn't return this love? He sees a woman and has brought her to OUR home, and see the audacity of hiding her under OUR bed, she thought. She cried out to God, for He seemed to be the only help and hope at that moment. In a few hours her children would come home. She should stay strong for them and not let any doubts arise. But with every minute her anger at the injustice boiled. Her husband was very busy these days, but she believed it was for the family. There must be a reason why he left before dawn and came home later than usual these days. Could he not have been thinking about the children, the infant who had not yet weaned? She should have listened to her mother's advice. Her friends had always warned her about men going far away to work. The town woman luring the traveling men for work is not an isolated case, they told her. She dismissed those concerns every time. Seconds that seemed like an eternity passed as she waited for her children and put them to bed early to confront her husband. That night he was late than usual, which gave her doubts more time and justification.

    Meanwhile, the man finished off his work earlier than usual and went to his supervisor to note his early departure. He was eager to return home early and ensure the mirror's safety. He could carry it with him the next day and perhaps get the story from the horse's mouth about the entrapment. Sympathy tugged at his heart for the trapped man and his family, who were probably waiting for him at home. He couldn't help but compare this to his own wife's patient wait each day. She catered to his every need, adjusted her schedule, and cared for their children impeccably. He too missed her so much these days and longed for her presence, for the warmth of their home. One of these days he wished to surprise her with that favorite flower necklace that she adores. Her friend owned one, and he recalled the sparkle in her eyes when she first glimpsed it. He knew that look - the one that masked a hint of desire. As he was lost in thought and packed his bag, his supervisor entered the tent. He asked if he could work overtime and promised an incentive. He wanted to decline the offer, eager to return home. But the incentive painted a vivid image of his wife wearing her favorite necklace and radiantly smiling at him. The officer added that if the overtime work stretched late, he could take a day off later. This sounded appealing as he really wanted a break and to relish a day with his family. And so he did overtime until the enveloping darkness sharply descended. He then lighted the lantern and went his way home, his thoughts oscillating between his beloved family and the captive man's story.

    Drawing closer to his home, he found it locked from within, the warm glow of a lantern faintly visible through the window. He knocked on the door and waited for his wife. She swung open the door with surprising haste, as if she had been eagerly awaiting his return the whole day. But, she was different today with anger etched onto her features. Baffled, surprised and concerned the man asked if everything was ok. Her right hand emerged, clutching the mirror she had concealed. She thrust it towards him and with trembling voice she asked him, "Who is she, and why is she here?" Tears trickled down her flushed cheeks. The man stood transfixed staring at the equally startled man in the mirror, his own reflection, almost in solidarity.

Part II will be published soon.