Doors

May 6, 2020

It’s far enough removed that I feel I can share it. On Palm Sunday, I got sick. I felt better on Monday, but relapsed Tuesday, before beginning a long climb back to health. The long and short of it was it felt like the flu. Linda is convinced I had COVID-19, but my GP told me that unless I had trouble breathing, I would be putting myself at greater risk going in to get tested than if I just stayed home. So I stayed home. For two weeks, I didn’t leave the house. I plotted schemes to break jail, but the warden was vigilant and crafty, so I remained under house arrest. For the past two weeks, I’ve felt fine, have been to see my mother, gone out in public (with a mask, of course), and spent lots of time outdoors. None of this is news.

What is news is the dream I had that Palm Sunday night. I didn’t sleep much, and what sleep I did get was pretty fitful, which is probably why I can remember the dream so vividly. It was short; a mere vignette, but startling. There was a knock on my door, so I got up to answer it. When I opened the door, the Death Angel was standing there, scythe in hand. I immediately slammed the door shut and woke up. 

Linda tells me I was a lot sicker than I remember. Maybe I was. If there was anything to my dream, I was literally at death’s door. Today in our Zoom prayer group, I prayed for open doors for the Gospel, whereupon pastor Verne prayed for us to be able to discern between an open door and a trap door. The Enemy of our souls has plenty of the latter, and we always need discernment so we don’t fall into the snares he has set. In my dream on Palm Sunday night, I slammed a trap door shut. Now I want to find the doors God places in front of me so I can knock till they open onto greater vistas of ministry than I have yet known. I am thankful tonight for this dream, and for the certainty I have for continued ministry because of it.