"Locked Out"

Mom doesn't say a lot about her childhood. When i ask she tells me. But, when she offers her child experiences without being asked it is always meaningful and usually powerful this is one of those cases

It is a terrible thing to be “locked out.” How many times we have misplaced our keys and find ourselves “locked out.” There are doors that do not lock with keys.

“You are too young for a key. I don’t want you inside alone. You stay outside and wait for me,” was my mother’s rule. I wanted a key. I could never understand why it was all right to be outside alone, but not to be inside. So…out of necessity I found a way to get in without a key.

I never said it was easy. Our house was heated by coal in the winter. The large wooden box attached to the back of the house held a ton of coal. We never had a ton of coal, at least not all at one time. We would order a ½ ton of coal in the winter but only when we could not get a ½ cord of wood. The box was called the “coal bin”. The wooden box had a large opening outside, so it could be filled easily by the truckload. Inside, however, the door was much smaller. It was designed this way, so you could open the smaller door and shovel the coal into the furnace without having the whole ton empty into the furnace room. Our coal bin was never full. And…now you know my secret!

When I came home from school I would open the coal bin door from the outside. I would jump in and push the wood aside. Then holding the smaller door open, I would crawl through to the other side. It took real talent not to get covered with dirt and coal dust. I would shut the door behind me and I was home free.

Inside I would head for the refrigerator and all the delicacies it held (which sometimes was not much). If I watched out the front window I could see my mother’s bus pull up. When I saw her step off the bus I had just enough time to run out the back door, pulling the door closed behind me. I was nervous at first, but I became very good at what I did. .

Then one day I just did not fit. The small door was the same size, but I was not. I could not go forwards or backwards. I was not in or out. I was stuck. I promised myself if I ever got out I would confess. I was as stuck as could be. I heard the bus. It was all over. I knew my mother would be stepping off the curb any minute. This was my cue to run, but I could not even move. If only she had given me a key. It was all her fault, wasn’t it? It was a terrible feeling to be locked out. However, I was neither locked out nor locked in.

Poverty, education, age, race, sex and many other labels can lock us out from where we would like to be. There are plenty of ways to refuse us entrance.
Jesus said, “I am the door, by me if any man enter in he shalt be save.”
We need not be alone, “Locked Out” inside or outside. To enter the door that really counts…we do not need a key. Nor do we need any secret entrance. Jesus is the door. The struggle is over. The door is open. Jesus has placed the welcome mat at the door of life.
I was eventually given a key. And yes, somehow with help I wiggled my way out of that small door. Since then I have lost my keys a few times and been locked out. But never will I be locked out from the door that counts.