Certain doors we walk through we probably shouldn’t.
Others are traps set to distract us from our purpose.
Unknowingly, we continue our anointed calling a door appears in the floor.
Lured by deception we enter in only to fall down creaky steps in the dark.
The cement is cold and dirty; the abandoned basement smells of mold and decay.
Climbing back up to get out is worthless since the door in the floor slammed shut behind you.
The only light glimmers through a tiny window covered in iron bars.
Barely enough to see are dusty antiques, cobwebs and furniture with holes in it. Boxes full of old letters, books and files strewn between broken chairs and tables. The dungeon like surroundings have death written all over them void of any human contact for a very long time.
How did I get here? Did I ask to walk through that door in the floor? Not that I know of.
If the smell doesn’t sicken the lack of food and water will. Human life can’t survive long in such vile surroundings.
Fear sets in as if the devil himself walked in and announced, “You are going to die, in here all alone.”
Shaking, cold and weeping, you cry out to God, “Where are you? You promised you would never leave me.”
Immovable, your body deteriorates as time passes. 24 hours later hunger and thirst is overwhelming. Sleep is impossible even though you’re exhausted.
Another day passes. Weakness has overtaken your senses but not enough to ignore his ugly presence. He has returned to solidify your obvious demise. “Why won’t you leave me alone you sinister creep? His wicked laugh follows him as he leaves you to die.
By the third day calling out to the God who hasn’t heard you is hopeless. No water or food has left your physical body dry, limp and defenseless.
One more time the demonic forces appear, “Give up. It’s over.”
Sounds good. Can’t do this anymore.
Rolling over in another position something pierces your side. You don’t have the energy to remove it.
All of a sudden that still, small voice you know speaks, “Get that pen out of your pocket.”
“What?” Once again, “Get that pen out of your pocket.”
Fumbling through the pocket of your cargo pants is this pen. A green and white, rather cheap writing pen you have never seen before.
“What good will this pen do me except to write my last words with it?”
The pen was structured with a plastic piece on the side that turned it on or off.
Pushing it startles the heck out of you. Not only was this a writing pen, it was a flashlight.
Immediately out of nowhere you gain the strength to get up. The little flashlight was so bright you could see everything in this “hell hole” even a 2nd door in the floor.
Making your way to this door, it opened with ease. The sun appeared as you crawl out into a fresh field of flowers. The scent was so wonderful it was as if breathing in that which you lost and so much more. As you make your way through red roses and magnolia blossoms, revelation abounds from the God you thought had abandoned you. Greeted by the most unlikely person, God catapults you to a new level of spiritual maturity. He has given you favor with one of clout and notoriety who was there to help you; only now it is the other way around as they seek your wisdom for confirmation, knowledge and future allowances.
Days later after much nourishment, care and love from others you realize the door to that deathly hallow had nothing to do with you. It was a means of one more perpetual attack against the anointing God placed on your life only the attacker never knew about the 2nd door in the floor.
Settled down and rested with the entire crisis behind you one question remains.
How did that so-called pen/flashlight you have never seen before land in the pocket of your pants?