Knock, Knock

I love looking at doors. While in New York one year, I photographed dozens of doors–doors in the country, doors in the city, doors on homes, doors on churches.

Last Christmas season I learned something about doors that I hope to never forget.

The lesson began when someone rang my doorbell. Answering the door, I was greeted by a young family–new neighbors to whom I had introduced myself, but had not yet had the opportunity to get to know on a deeper level. They handed me some goodies and wished me a Merry Christmas. Then, they asked the dreaded question: Do you have plans on Christmas Day?

I did, in fact, have plans. Given that I would be alone that day, my plans were to rest and relax as much as possible, and I was very much looking forward to it. But, of course, resting and relaxing sounds like “no plans” to others, so they were quick to invite me over for Christmas dinner. I hesitated, though they seemed genuinely eager for me to join them. I hesitated because I knew dinner at 3:30 pm would interfere with my plans to relax. What would become of the nap I’d hoped to take that afternoon?

After a long, uncomfortable pause, I thanked the family for the invitation and told them I would consider it and get back to them. That night, I considered what a wonderful opportunity this would be to get to know my new neighbors, for few things encourage meaningful connections better than gathering around a dinner table for food and conversation, so, the next day, I accepted their offer to join them for Christmas dinner.

A few days later, my doorbell rang again. And once again, there was a family on the other side, offering Christmas treats, and asking uncomfortable questions–this time, Do you have plans for Christmas Eve?

I hesitated, as I had before, though six pair of eyes eagerly awaited my response. And just like before, I later accepted the invitation after reflecting on the genuineness of their invitation.

I attended Christmas Eve and Christmas Day dinners with these families, after getting in a short nap, and enjoyed myself very much. The conversation flowed freely and I feel as though I made new friends.

Being invited into someone’s home and joining them around the table, is, in my view, a sacred experience that connects one to others in ways that attending church, or waving to someone in passing at the grocery store, can never do.

Connection requires effort– yes, even for individuals like me who are passionate about the topic of connection. This reminder came in handy when someone recently offered to repair our broken shed door.

Hmmm…another door.

It is not always easy to accept help. At the same time, it is not always convenient to offer service to another. I believe that both offering service and accepting help require a bit of both courage and selflessness. With that in mind, I mustered up my courage and gratefully accepted the offer for help.

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The day after Christmas, a small crew of men showed up and spent the morning doing repairs around the yard. The act of serving others fills the souls of both giver and receiver with emotions that are difficult to put into words–emotions that are reserved only for such experiences.

As I reflected upon the encounters I’ve had with doors this Christmas season, my thoughts turned to yet another door–the door in the story of The Ten Virgins.

The Bible teaches that, while ten virgins stood outside the door waiting to enter the wedding feast, only five were prepared with enough oil to be let inside. These five had done the work and preparation necessary to fill their lamps with oil. Their lamps were aglow, surrounding themselves and others with light.

The five who had not made sufficient effort to fill their lamps with oil stood in darkness, and were not invited into the wedding feast. To them the Savior said, with what I imagine was great sadness, “I never knew you” or, rather, “Ye never knew me. Ye know me not.”

David A. Bednar taught: “The phrases ‘Ye never knew me’ and ‘Ye know me not’ should be a cause of deep spiritual introspection for each of us. Do we only know about the Savior, or are we increasingly coming to know Him?”

I cannot think of a single person who truly knows the Savior, who does not also know his neighbor.

To know about the Savior and to know about our neighbors will never be enough. We must be increasingly coming to know them.

As we go about our days, may we each increase our efforts to connect with those around us, and with our Savior, on the “in between” days leading up to our Sunday worship services. Doing so will add oil and light to our lamps in preparation for the greatly anticipated Wedding Feast, where we will be invited to enter through a door, and join the Savior and His followers around a table, in a sacred act of true connection.