Storm Door

I had the honor of posing to help to fix a storm door with my grandfather today. He is a master. I am, well, not even a novice. He has fixed and repaired things all his life. It was a privilege to watch someone as talented as him work.

Before we decided the door needed to be replaced, he gave it the look over and told me there was a chance he could fix it. It was up to me to choose whether I wanted to keep the old door and have it “sort of fixed”- which would inevitably mean having to fix it two years from now- or to go spend $200 on a brand new, shiny door. I was paying close attention to what was going on in my mind, trying to determine the practical decision. Yet, I was also closely following the story that was happening in my heart.

My heart began to envision a nice, brand new door on the front of the house, one like our neighbors. I wanted that. You see, for the last couple months, due to my passivity in some regards, the storm door of our home has been flying open whenever the wind blew, barley held on by the bottom hinges. It has been a pain. And it’s looked terrible. So naturally, I really got excited about a nice looking door. This could be accomplished by fixing the old one or buying a new one. But there was something more than that. I yearned for the new one, and it felt spiritual.

The whole conversation going on in my heart was a great reminder: My soul longs for restoration of all that is broken. I realized what I was feeling was much deeper than what storm door to put on my house. It had to do with heaven. So often, as I get lost in the matrix of life, I become accustomed to things breaking down. Something terrible happens: I get used to it. Do you? Think about it. How many times during the day does something break or fall apart? The car? The toaster? The microwave? The iPod? And when something breaks, aside from the frustration you feel, don’t you pass it off as something that is “just part of life”? I wonder sometimes how much business a Home Depot or Wal-Mart will do in heaven, where nothing will need fixing.

I am tired of it. My ache to have a brand new storm door revealed that yearning for a world I was made to live in, where nothing is broken. The Bible says in Revelation 21, “Behold, I am making all things new.” That’s it. That’s what this afternoon was about. For now, in this lifetime, I have to put up with fixing things. But it will not last forever. There will be a moment when Aslan goes on the move again, winter will melt away, and things will be restored as they are groaning to be (Romans 8:18-22).

But, if I have to put up with fixing things for now, it’s a blessing to do it alongside my grandpa.