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Description
In my house there's this really weird thing we do with doors.
Like we do the usual door things that everyone else does.
We open them, we close them, we lock them, we unlock them, we forget the keys so as to be able to lock and unlock them, we occasionally forget that they're closed and run into them. You know.
The usual door stuff.
But there's one thing that we do to doors that most others don't do.
We take out our anger on our doors.
It wasn't actually my family who started it.
The first one was a hole in the pantry door the diameter the thickness of a broomstick handle, from an angry sister inches above her brother's head.
I was the second, putting my foot through the downstairs closet door.
I think there are two or three more. I'm not entirely sure. Another on the other side of that closet door. Another on my brother's bedroom door. And possibly a third in my room.
And the thing is these damaged doors are because we locked them so long ago.
We've been shouting from different rooms trying to be understood from behind a door, and when we start throwing punches because we aren't being heard all we hit is a wafer thin piece of wood.
It doesn't satisfy.
It cuts up your knuckles, and then, angry and brooding, you've got to go get a band-aid, because you hit a door, because you were trying to show your brother how you feel from behind a locked up heart, and that's not how families work. Families don't lock doors. We can't be a family if we're locking our hearts up tight, if we're not allowing each other to love one another, to help one another, to be the hands of the Great Physician, and help be a part of the healing. We can't be a family behind locked doors.
We've got to give that up.
We've got to give up our locks.
We've got to open up our doors.
If we're going to function right we've got to open up our hearts.
So I'm opening up my doors, just like I'm opening up my heart, because there's no way this broken thing can be healed if I've locked away the hurting parts.
There's no way the light of day can reach the dark parts if I still have the blinds closed.
There's no way out if I've trapped myself inside it, and my only hope outside, laying siege to the door to my heart, with a loving "knock, knock," like a cross-shaped battering ram.
My heart can't hold out.
I'm opening up my damaged doors.

Description
In my house there's this really weird thing we do with doors.
Like we do the usual door things that everyone else does.
We open them, we close them, we lock them, we unlock them, we forget the keys so as to be able to lock and unlock them, we occasionally forget that they're closed and run into them. You know.
The usual door stuff.
But there's one thing that we do to doors that most others don't do.
We take out our anger on our doors.
It wasn't actually my family who started it.
The first one was a hole in the pantry door the diameter the thickness of a broomstick handle, from an angry sister inches above her brother's head.
I was the second, putting my foot through the downstairs closet door.
I think there are two or three more. I'm not entirely sure. Another on the other side of that closet door. Another on my brother's bedroom door. And possibly a third in my room.
And the thing is these damaged doors are because we locked them so long ago.
We've been shouting from different rooms trying to be understood from behind a door, and when we start throwing punches because we aren't being heard all we hit is a wafer thin piece of wood.
It doesn't satisfy.
It cuts up your knuckles, and then, angry and brooding, you've got to go get a band-aid, because you hit a door, because you were trying to show your brother how you feel from behind a locked up heart, and that's not how families work. Families don't lock doors. We can't be a family if we're locking our hearts up tight, if we're not allowing each other to love one another, to help one another, to be the hands of the Great Physician, and help be a part of the healing. We can't be a family behind locked doors.
We've got to give that up.
We've got to give up our locks.
We've got to open up our doors.
If we're going to function right we've got to open up our hearts.
So I'm opening up my doors, just like I'm opening up my heart, because there's no way this broken thing can be healed if I've locked away the hurting parts.
There's no way the light of day can reach the dark parts if I still have the blinds closed.
There's no way out if I've trapped myself inside it, and my only hope outside, laying siege to the door to my heart, with a loving "knock, knock," like a cross-shaped battering ram.
My heart can't hold out.
I'm opening up my damaged doors.