Wooden Doors, Apartments, and God

I had a very random memory come to mind while watching our traditional Miracle on 34th St. movie this holiday. So there is the scene in the courthouse where the little girl, Susan, walks straight up to the judge and hands him a Christmas card with a dollar bill in it. That Christmas card turns the whole outcome of the judge's statement. At such a pivotal moment I should be paying attention to the suspense of the scene, or maybe the silliness of a judge declaring if Santa Claus is real or not. But what I always loved watching was the girl push through those wooden swinging doors separating the gallery from the front of the room . I don't know why, but I always thought it would feel so cool to bust through those doors, feeling self important as the doors continued to swing back and forth as I took a seat.

Ok, fastforward now about 10 years to when I started working in the library at Biola. I was so happy, in such an simple way, when I discovered that to get the key for work I had to go through a similar swinging, wooden door. It's such a small, funny thing, but I finally got my big chance to bust through the door. I completely forgot about my childhood obsession with those swinging doors until I sat there watching Susan walk through them. At first I wanted to think, "aw, one of these days," but instead I thought, "big whoop, I walk through a door like that every day now."

A few weeks after watching Miracle on 34th St., my family drove down to beautiful San Clemente beach for our annual 1 week stay. My dad turned to me, like he does almost every year, and commented on how fun it would be if our beach condo was my real apartment and I shared it with a few other girls. I used to wander the rooms, picturing what it would be like to live without parents, with a bunch of my closest friends, and have a place to call my very own. But this year, I couldn't help thinking, "big whoop, a beach condo would be nice, but now I live in my own apartment with my best friends."

I don't need to dream anymore. I used to wonder what I'd look like when I was old, you know, a ripe old age like 18 years old! But now that's come and gone. I wondered what I would do after graduation, what it felt like to drive for real rather than mimic my mom in the back seat, or even what my brothers would be like or if they would keep playing Ninja turtles and Sonic forever. Now I know that I am still young and have so much to experience, but it makes me laugh to realize all the things I used to wonder and dream about. It's just sad that "being grown-up" isn't as magical as it seemed.

Childhood is certainly a magical time. Everything is so simple and everything lies ahead. But I would say that it is so magical because it is so mysterious. I used to take such joy in silly thoughts of walking through a swinging door simply because I didn't know what it would feel like. And now, I walk through that door without a second thought or a hint of a smile because I'm just used to it now.

We live in a culture that is soaked with facts and information. To be oblivious is to be frowned upon. Yet, it is ironic to me that people who so highly value knowing find such joy in the mystery of the unknown and first experiences. If only we could gain knowledge, actually experience the feeling of those doors, without becoming bored by the second or third time.

What struck me when wishing this was that we have it! The answer is the classic Sunday school answer: God. I used to think that we need to fully explain God to be justified in believing in his existence. If I can't make perfect logical sense out of God, then he must not exist. But how foolish am I to think I can fully comprehend an infinite God who exists outside of time and space? God can be consistent even if I can't comprehend it. In fact, if we completely figure God out, then he must not be all that glorious after all. So guess what? God will always be a mystery. We can understand aspects of his nature. We can experience him to a degree. But we can never get bored with God if we truly seek him.

So here's a little twist for you on "child-like faith." Christianity will never become boring if you truly seek God. There will always be mystery and anticipation which brings that simple, magical joy of a child.