The Other Room

Sometimes dark and hot, stuffy, the air thick, suffocating. 

Other times dark and cold, with a damp air that clings to my clothes, my skin.

But always dark. The other room.

                                            *****

My favourite space is the bay window seat in our secret place. White drapes frame the window and there are soft, worn cushions, woven with delicate golden threads that catch the light.  I sit with Him there. The warm sun on my back and a gentle breeze through the window. Sometimes we talk, sometimes I just lean against Him and watch the garden. It's captivating and there is always something new to see. Tulips are my favourite and this spring there is a field of them in so many colours. He planted them for me. Sometimes there is a lake, surrounded by willows, sometimes a picturesque view that stretches on for miles, sometimes a wooded area waiting to be explored. But there is always a tree, and always a stream. At night the moonlight catches the water, creating twinkling lights that shine up at the stars in the night sky. Everything sparkles. Everything always sparkles. And He is always there waiting for me. Always so pleased so see me and never too busy to talk or sit. 

That room is so large and full of life, full of joy and so peaceful. There is much more to do and see than I could ever discover. I'm only just now starting to realise. And all of it we can do together.  

                                           *****

Now along one stretch of wall, opposite our window and near the entrance there is a door. It's not much to look at, nothing particularly notable about it apart from the fact it is heavy and has a gold lock. Doors do appear from time to time in my secret place and others disappear. But not this one. This door has been here for as long as I can remember. It is so familiar, yet at the same time so out of place.  The door is always open, sometimes flung wide and sometimes just a fraction ajar. And behind the door, is the other room. 

I go to the room a lot. Every day I get up from the window seat, walk away from the warm sun and head straight for that old familiar door. Some days I'm back and forth, other days I stay in the other room for hours. Most days I spend time sat in the doorway that separates the other room from my secret place. 

Because the other room is so dark, I don't really know how big it is, but one night I ran in and kept running for a few minutes and didn't get to the far end. I wasn't sure I'd get out that night. I remember the sheer terror, my chest compressed as if being crushed in some invisible iron vice and my throat closing up. I could hear the echoing screech of many voices telling me I would never escape, that I was lost and couldn't be found. But then, somehow I could hear His voice calling me back. It was quieter than the rest, and altogether different. A whisper of peace in the deafening roar.  I followed it until I could see the light from the door and then exhausted I dropped to my knees, unable to move. Eventually I fell asleep, my cheeks wet with tears and my face pressed up against the foot of the door. When I awoke the next day I was laying on a bed in my secret peace. He was stroking my cheek.

                                            *****

You might be wondering why I go there at all. I used to wonder that all the time. But I have come to realise it is the wrong thing to wonder. You see, open doors are an invitation. And those questions lead to shame not freedom. The real questions are: why is the door there at all? Where is the key? And how can it be closed once and for all? I have a feeling I'm about to find out.