I have realized that I spend a lot of time in my metaphorical prison looking for a key. I’ve looked under every rock, and checked every brick in the wall. I’ve gazed out the window and plotted impossible escape plans. The escape plans usually require going back to my Ice Queen ways and using force to get what I want. I could kick the door down and force my way out. But then what. I’m pretty sure I would end up right back where I started. I would either have to keep running and pushing or fall to my knees, surrender and end up back where I started. I’d rather skip the fighting part and just live surrendered in prison.
But still I try to figure out a way to escape. Maybe there is one more lesson I have to learn. Maybe there’s an unconfessed sin lurking in the dark. If I can just find it and bring it out into the light, the door would open. Maybe I haven’t met the right person. How can I meet the right person? Where do I need to go? Who do I need to talk to who can get me where I want to be? Maybe I’m just not happy or content enough. Maybe if I can figure out how to change my heart and my mind, I could go free.
But I’m coming to see that there is only one key, only one way out of this place where I’m stuck. God has the key. He has to open the door from the outside in his good and perfect time. He’s not waiting for me to magically figure something out. He already knows when the timing will be perfect. He already knows the day of the end of my sentence when the work of the suffering will be accomplished, and he is anxiously waiting for me on the other side.
But waiting is so hard. The crazy thing about this prison is that he is not just on the outside; he is here with me on the inside. He is not just the person who holds the key; he’s the person who holds my peace. He is my peace; he is
It’s just really hard to stop trying to find my own key.
What have you been doing to try to find you own key, to make your own way out?