A Door, A Wound, and the Waiting God

The disciple came at dusk, the sky bruised with purple and fading gold.

He sat at the elder’s feet because the weight in his chest was too heavy to stand beneath.

The elder waited. He did not ask why the disciple had come.

He could see it in the eyes: sorrow, hunger, and something like fear.

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Disciple: Father, my heart feels as if it has been split open.

Longing burns through me like fire, yet I walk still in the desert,

not knowing when or if I will ever cross into rest.

Some days the silence feels like God’s very breath.

Other days, it feels bitter, like abandonment.

The demons circle the wound He made, twisting my thoughts, stirring unrest,

turning grace into confusion.

I fear the ache will consume me.

The elder’s face remained still, not unfeeling, but rooted like an old tree that has known many storms.

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Elder: You speak as one God has wounded with love.

Do not despise the ache. It is the mark that you are being called.

The disciple trembled.

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Disciple: But where does it lead?

How do I wait without breaking?

I feel the pull toward home, but I cannot yet cross the threshold.

The door feels near, yet I do not know if it is open.

This uncertainty tears at me.

The elder looked at him fully then, eyes steady, voice unshaken.

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Elder: No, my child.

The door is not shut.

The door is open.

It has been open.

It waits for you.

The disciple felt the words cut through him like a blade, quiet yet sharp, revealing rather than wounding.

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Disciple: Open?

Even now, when I feel unsteady, unfinished, unsure?

Elder: Yes.

It is opened not by your readiness, but by God’s mercy.

Listen to me:

The door does not require your haste, only your fidelity.

Do not force the hour.

You are not called to break through.

You are called to ripen into the one who walks through freely.

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The disciple’s voice was small, almost breaking.

Disciple: And the demons that claw at my thoughts?

The confusion that rises like smoke in the night?

The elder placed his hand on the disciple’s shoulder, firm and grounding.

Elder: Let them rage.

Wolves do not frighten the Shepherd.

God does not open a door and leave you to be devoured at its threshold.

The wound in your heart is not a flaw.

It is the space being carved for Him.

Stand in it.

Hold it.

Let it deepen without fear.

You do not need to reach the door today.

You only need to keep walking.

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Disciple: And when will I enter?

The elder did not hesitate.

Elder: When obedience brings you there, not desire alone.

You will enter not by hunger, but by surrender.

Until then, bear the ache like prayer.

Let the wound be the place where God speaks to you in secret.

Walk toward the open door, slowly and faithfully, as one already expected.

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The disciple bowed his head.

The ache remained, yet something within it shifted.

It no longer felt like exile.

It felt like preparation, like promise.

And the elder’s voice echoed through the heart of the night, not as possibility, but as certainty:

The door is open.

Walk.