MISSING THE DOOR. Pts. 1-3

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Pt. 1

As a counselor and mentor, I have often urged my clients and students to exercise sensitivity to the Holy Spirit; most especially when it comes to what I refer to as "open doors."

To be sure, more often than not, I have not only willingly, but gladly, walked right through those proverbial doorways.

However, much to my chagrin, in relation to finding my way through those open doors, I have occasionally found myself in the throes of hypocrisy.

As a matter of fact, it occurred just the other day.

About 5pm one day, I drove up to the local post office to retrieve my mail. When I arrived, I noticed my car was the only one in the parking lot. Stepping out, I made my way to the front door, and to my mailbox. 

Retrieving my mail, I turned to go, and noticed an elderly black woman, as she passed me in the post office hallway. She was obviously disabled, as she limped, and walked with a cane.

And then, and then, I sensed what I refer to as "the unction of the Spirit."

"Turn around. Walk back towards her. Ask her if she would mind if you pray for her."

I continued walking towards the door.

Whereas, I had recently struck up a conversation with a man about my age wearing a cap, (which indicated he was a Vietnam veteran), in this same post office, and even prayed for him, this time around I "missed the boat."

As I stepped out the front door of the post office, I thought to myself,

"You're imagining things."

(and)

"That wasn't God."

(and)

"You would have only scared the poor soul."

However, every time I thought of the encounter, I experienced a sense of guilt. God had spoken to me, and I had been oblivious to the leading of His Spirit.

I think the best I can do in a case such as this is re-commit to sensitizing myself to open doors, and the unction of the Holy Spirit, and to pray for the one whom I neglected to pray for in person.

Pt. 2

Today, two weeks after the circumstances I described above, I pulled into the parking lot of the post office for the hundred twenty seven thousandth two hundred twenty sixth time, noticed one vehicle in a handicapped space, got out of the car, walked through the front door, left a tract on a customer work area, and walked towards my Post Office box.The aluminum partition between the lobby and customer counter had been pulled shut, as it was after five pm.

And now, and now I saw her in the exact same spot in the hallway as before, and limping towards the front door. The same elderly disabled black woman who I had previously failed to pray for. And in very much the same way as two weeks earlier, we were the only people in the post office.

And as before, we had the entire post office to ourselves, and I was determined not to let the opportunity pass again.

"Hello ma'am. I saw you here a couple of weeks ago, and felt compelled to pray for you, and I didn't do it."

(and)

"Could I pray for you now?"

The older woman seemed a bit confused, and replied,

"Uhmmm, I am a member of a ladies prayer group, and we meet for prayer regularly."

I tried again.

"Yes, but would you mind if I pray for you right here and now?"

She acquiesced, and shook her head. As I prepared to pray, I asked her name. As I recall now, she said her name was "Marsa;" (a name I'd never heard before).

Pt. 3

I nodded, and reached out to touch Marsa on the shoulder. While the elderly lady was slow on her feet, she wasn't slow with her words.

"No, don't touch me."

Her response caught me off guard, and I withdrew my hand.

And with that, I began to pray.

"Dear Father, I pray for Marsa that you would bless, help, and encourage her. Use her, Lord to impact those You place in her pathway. Provide for her daily needs, and those of her family. Guide and direct her all the days of her life. In Jesus Name. Amen."

As I said, "Amen," Marsa replied in kind.

"And may God bless you with the same things you prayed about, and may the words apply to you also."

I thanked Marsa, and we parted ways. I had fulfilled my duty to God and the little lady who He had set (and reset) in my pathway.

As I exited the front door, she was getting into her automobile. I waved, and she did the same.

by Bill McDonald, PhD