When God Knocks on the Door of Your Bright and Sunny

This morning I woke up early.

I fed Watson, my golden lab, and my birds (well, technically they belong to the whole neighborhood), prepared my coffee, and settled into the quiet of the house before everyone else was awake.

For the first time in a while, I didn’t have anything pressing on me to read.

No Bible study.

No devotional.

No journal prompts.

No spiritual book calling my name.

So I picked up my novel, Emma M. Lion, by Beth Brower (the best book series EVER!!!)

And immediately I felt resistance.

Not because I didn’t want to read it.

Because it was Sunday.

A familiar thought whispered in the background:

Shouldn’t you be spending this time with God?

After all, wasn’t this the time for Bible study, journaling, prayer, or some other pursuit of spiritual growth?

But then another thought surfaced.

Why can’t I read Emma with God?

The question stopped me.

Why had I separated the spiritual and the ordinary in my mind? It was as if I had to earn the right or put in my time before I could do something simply for the pleasure of it.

Why had I assumed God was interested in one part of my life but merely tolerated the other?

As I sat there with my coffee, I realized something surprising.

I had been carefully inviting God into my struggles for years.

The hard places.

The lonely places.

The places where I needed answers.

The places where I needed rescue.

The places where I needed provision.

But I had been much more cautious about inviting Him into my delight.

The bright and sunny parts.

The parts that felt extravagant.

The parts that enjoyed beautiful stories, gardens, long conversations, ocean dreams, and slow mornings with a cup of coffee.

Somehow, I had unconsciously decided those parts were less important.

Less spiritual.

Perhaps even a little suspect.

What if I became too self-indulgent?

What if I drifted away?

What if enjoyment distracted me from God?

And underneath all of that was a deeper fear.

What if He didn’t approve?

What if He came into those rooms and found them silly, unnecessary, or unimportant?

As I sat with that thought, I began to see something I had never considered before.

Maybe God has been knocking on the door of my bright and sunny all along.

Not to inspect it.

Not to correct it.

Not to take it away.

But to enter it.

We often quote the verse about Jesus standing at the door and knocking.

Most of us imagine Him knocking on the door of our pain.

The room where we’re hurting.

The room where we’re confused.

The room where we’re desperate.

But what if He is also knocking on the door of our delight?

The room where we laugh.

The room where we dream.

The room where we enjoy ourselves.

The room where we simply feel alive.

Maybe He doesn’t just want access to our need.

Maybe He wants access to our joy.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized how much of my relationship with God has been built during difficult seasons.

I have learned to find Him in uncertainty.

I have learned to hear Him in disappointment.

I have learned to trust Him when prayers seemed unanswered.

I have learned to cling to Him when resources are scarce.

Those seasons are real.

Those lessons are valuable.

But what if abundance requires its own kind of faith?

Not the faith to endure.

The faith to enjoy.

The faith to receive.

The faith to believe that goodness is not a threat.

The faith to believe that delight is not selfish.

The faith to believe that God actually enjoys sharing life with His children.

Jesus seemed remarkably comfortable doing ordinary things.

He attended weddings.

He shared meals.

He walked with friends.

He told stories.

He cooked breakfast on a beach.

The Son of God seemed remarkably comfortable in ordinary happiness.

Perhaps because He understood something we often forget.

The Father is not only present in “sacred” moments.

He is present in all moments.

Because ALL moments ARE sacred. Especially if they are shared with Him.

The holy and the ordinary were never meant to be separated.

Maybe that is what becoming whole looks like.

Not choosing between the deep and the delightful.

Not choosing between tears and laughter.

Not choosing between worship and novels.

Not choosing between prayer and coffee.

But allowing them to exist together.

The dark and lonely.

The bright and sunny.

The places where deep cries out to deep.

And the places where joy bubbles up unexpectedly.

Both belong to Him.

Both are abundance.

Both are part of who we are.

And perhaps true intimacy is giving Him the key to every room.

The room where we wrestle.

The room where we grieve.

The room where we hope.

The room where we dream.

The room where we simply enjoy being alive.

Because maybe God never intended to be confined to our spiritual activities.

Maybe He always intended to share our entire life.

Including a quiet Sunday morning.

A cup of coffee.

And a good book.

Reflection

Are there parts of your life that you easily invite God into?

Are there other parts you’ve quietly kept separate?

What might happen if you stopped dividing life into “spiritual” and “ordinary” and simply began sharing it all with Him?

Maybe He’s been knocking on the door of your bright and sunny too.

In everything you do -eat, play, and love- may it always be seasoned with Joy!

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