My friend Lisa Fischer’s mom, Sherry Gibson, died on July 13. Soon after the memorial service, Lisa and I were talking. Lisa said, “Let me tell you how the Lord walked me through the experience of my mom’s death. Our family felt sure her memory problems stemmed from dementia. At the same time, Dad dealt with the effects of a stroke. They both worried about the other. Mom worried about what would happen to Dad if she died first. Dad worried who would take care of her if he died first.”
Lisa struggled with how the situation should be handled. When she began to feel fearful, unsure of her next move, or anxious, she pleaded with God. Her eyes glistened as she told me, “And then I heard the Lord say, ‘Lisa, I have this. Stop being afraid.’”
The family finally received a diagnosis of dementia and began plans to identify the right medications that would benefit Sherry. Sadly, two days after everyone learned the news of her dementia, Sherry passed away. Lisa told me she remembered how many times the Lord comforted her spirit with the knowledge that everything was okay. He was taking care of her mother. In true Lisa Fischer style, she smiled as she remembered, “He told me to hush up and sit down.”
Lisa listened as God whispered to her heart. She went to him and asked for his mercy. The Lord’s desire was that Lisa allow him and give him the privilege to be an active part of her story.
During our conversation, I shared with Lisa the story of my buddies David and Micah Rice and the birth of their daughter Aila Sage. David and Micah are my granola friends. They do pretty much everything naturally. When it came time for Aila Sage to enter the world, Micah made herself as comfortable as possible in their bathtub, surrounded by a midwife; her mom, Connie; and David sitting close by. The delivery went smoothly, and Aila Sage was born.
She wasn’t breathing.
The midwife immediately exercised every procedure necessary to support Aila Sage. Nothing worked. David sat helplessly next to them and prayed, asking the Lord to help his child survive. He heard the Lord say, “Let me in.”
David kept praying, “I am. Please, Lord, help my baby breathe.”
Horrified, everyone struggled with the heart-wrenching possibility that Aila Sage might not live.
The midwife and Connie performed CPR, with Connie doing compressions and the midwife breathing for Aila Sage.
Still nothing.
David quietly cried out and begged the Lord for help. He distinctly remembers hearing the Lord say, “David, let me into this.”
David kept quietly praying, “Lord, I am letting you in. Please help.”
They were now at the five-minute mark, and still no breath. The midwife urgently implored someone to call 911.
Again, David heard the Lord say his name. “David, let me into this.”
David, desperate for the life of his newborn daughter, jumped to his feet and cried out, “In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, let my baby breathe!”
Aila Sage breathed.
Later that night, their older daughter, Prairie, came to David and told him she had prayed when her sister wasn’t breathing. As soon as she asked Jesus to let Aila Sage breathe, Aila Sage breathed.
When Micah told me this story, she informed me that Aila Sage’s name, in Scottish Gaelic, means “From the strong place.” I asked her if she learned any big lessons from the birth. She said her takeaway was that Jesus wants us to invite him into our experience. That thought stuck with me. When I shared it with Lisa, she said it reminded her of Jesus saying, “I stand at the door and knock.”
I know the verse and the accompanying image. I’ve always thought it was a great picture of evangelizing the world. I’m sure I’ve used that verse at some point when encouraging an unbeliever to accept the Lord. I decided to find out exactly what Jesus meant when he said it.
The letter, in Revelation 3, is a message to the church in Laodicea. It is the last of the letters to the seven churches and arguably the most scathing.
Among other hindrances to the Laodiceans’ faith, their lives reflected neither hot nor cold. That made them disgusting to God.
I learned, when I read the letter to Laodicea, that it convicted the church. It didn’t entice nonbelievers. When Jesus declared, “I stand at the door and knock,” he was telling those of us who already know him to let him in. In essence, he said, “Hey, I’m standing right here. You know who I am. You’ve accepted me into your heart. Invite me in.”
Too many Christians cry out to Jesus when they are in desperate need of help. Most certainly, he hears their hearts and answers accordingly. But they fail at asking him to be an active part of their ordeal. It’s as though they want to sit back and let Jesus perform a miracle while they watch. They pray for help and guidance but keep him at arm’s length.
Jesus keeps knocking and saying, “Open the door, and let me in. I’m right here. I’ll come in and eat supper with you. I’ll stay with you.”
In biblical times, sharing supper together signified friendship or affection. It meant intimacy. When Jesus said, “You’re neither hot nor cold, but lukewarm,” he was saying, “You can’t be noncommittal with me. You’ve accepted me into your heart, but have you invited me into your experience?”
What if we’re missing out on one of the most beautiful parts of our journey with Jesus by knowing who he is but never really allowing him to be an active player in our story? How much are we missing out by feeling comfortable with him sitting in the stadium but never asking him to join the game? What would it feel like if he were sitting at the supper table with us on a regular basis, even when we didn’t need help?
Jesus gave them the answer. He needed them to wake up to what they elected to miss. He was saying, “Here’s what you will receive if you open the door and let me in. I conquered death and took the place of honor right by my Father on his throne. Open the door. Invite me in. And when the time comes, you will be a conqueror just like me, and you will sit right next to me on my throne. You will have experienced complete victory.”
There is a difference between committing to the Lord and asking him to be an active participant in our ongoing adventure. His love and affection for us are so powerful, sure, and complete that he won’t settle for less than a determined, deliberate relationship through every undertaking, every trial, every pursuit, every failure, and every dream. He’ll just keep on knocking.
Of course, it’s not easy, but I’m going to do my best to always leave the door wide open.
