We met in college just months after I survived a broken heart. He lived in a tiny house behind my apartment complex and one night, after connecting through our mutual friends on social media, he weathered the cold and rain and sleet and hiked over to meet me. I should probably add in here that a part of me didn’t really want him to come over. I hadn’t had a chance to shower after my workout when he announced he was coming to meet me and I was a little bit ashamed of my smell and appearance.
I look disgusting and smell disgusting-er. What a great first impression…
Nevertheless, he knocked on the door and I remember feeling my stomach drop. I froze. He knocked again. Well, here goes nothing!
BAM. There he was. The man who’s name I’d later share.
All my roommates stayed up, just in case the man taller than the door frame was coming over just to “get some”. When we learned that wasn’t quite his intention, my body guards went to bed one by one.
We talked and talked. It’s as if my appearance didn’t matter. He wanted to know my heart. In one open, honest conversation I felt like I learned more about not only a stranger but also myself. To be honest, had to pee really bad but the conversation was so encouraging to my soul that I didn’t want to get up.
So, my bladder nearly popped but that’s beside the point.
Looking back on that night, I realized something powerful and I want to whisper it to anyone who thinks God has forgotten about them, anyone feeling alone or heartbroken or just really discouraged: I think meeting God is a lot like that. He meets us on our front doorstep, daily. He’s right there, knocking on the door of your heart. He doesn’t care about the stink or grime or shame stuck on you – He just wants to know you. And He’s already done all the heavy lifting and weathered much more than cold and rain and sleet.
Because the God that loves you? He weathered the cross, the cold, the blood, the sweat, and the tears. He’s hiked the hill to calvary, all in pursuit of your heart. You just have to open the door.