Today started out like any other Friday morning.
I got to work at 8:30. Not a minute early, not a minute late, just like any other Friday morning. I unlocked my office, put my coat in the closet, turned on my computer, head back to the office door to prop it open…
But before I got to the door, my routine was interrupted by the ringing telephone. Here where the story gets interesting (finally!).
A lady called about some event going on at church next weekend. She wanted to know the time or something. Something I didn’t remember off the top of my head. But, not to worry, there is a poster down the hall with all the details. So I set down the phone, jogged down the hall, got the info, and came back to my office. The door of my office had closed (I hadn’t propped it open yet), which wouldn’t have been such a problem, had my keys not been in my coat, locked in my office.
At this juncture, I decided I had to break in (which says all sorts of funky things about my character). Two ways to do so. Climb in through the window, or pick the lock on the door. My office is on the second story, and I’m afraid of heights, so I quickly decided on option two.
Down the hall, I found a screw driver and some paper clips; all I needed to pick the lock. I’ve read several articles on lock design and the art of picking locks (which says all sorts of funky things about my character), but this was the first time I actually decided to pick a lock for real.
I was working on that thing for 15 minutes. I mean, I was in the zone. I could have turned lock picking into a spectator sport. My arms were flailing about, I was kicking this screwdriver, putting paperclips in places they didn’t belong.
But I wasn’t getting anywhere! This door was locked good (or all those articles I read were junk).
So, I was giving up. I decided I’d just sit outside my office and wait a few hours for the next person to come in and she’d have a key to let me into my office. Well, first I had to put the screwdriver back, so I took it down the hall and set it down where I found it.
Right next to where I had found the screwdriver was a peculiar thing.
A key with a note attached. “Spare Office Key.”
I think many people, myself not excluded, are guilty of trying to do life completely wrong. Christ is our metaphorical “Office Key.” He’s the only thing we need. He’s the only thing we need.
So before you start trying to break down doors, take a minute to find Christ.