The Invitation

As a part of an art group I am in, our first assignment was to create an invitation. The invitation was to answer the following questions:

Lord, how are you inviting me into a more profound creative journey?

How would it look different to be hiding in You?

This is an invitation from God to you. What would it say? How would it look?

I shared my invitation with my group tonight and have decided to be bold and blog the invitation in four parts. So, here's my fiction debut...

As I walk in the door of my home, I enter a room that is not in my house, but I wish it were. It’s a fairly small room – cozy, with a plump purple chair in the corner. A lamp sheds light softly over the chair and as I look closer, I see a steaming cup of hot tea, the heat of it shimmering up towards the light. I put down my bag and start towards the soft chair and hot tea, already imagining pulling the silky blanket on the chair’s arm over my body and curling up with a book. Just then, B appears at my side and says, “Mom, this isn’t where you want to be. It looks comfortable, but you’re supposed to be somewhere else right now.”

Looking longingly towards the cozy corner, I follow her through the oak door to a room that could be in my house, but isn’t. I immediately see why she’s brought me here. I turn to thank her, but she’s closed the door behind her.

There is so much to be done here. I start picking up books, stacking them neatly to one side when I glance over and see a pile of laundry sitting by the washer. I start towards the pile, then realize there are ingredients laid out for a meal. Thinking that I’ll get dinner started and then tackle laundry, I read the recipe to the side quickly and pick up a knife to get started. Out of nowhere, K walks over, puts her tiny hand on my arm and says, “Mommy, someone else will do that. You’re supposed to be somewhere else right now.”

“But I need to get dinner started now so that it’s ready in time.”

“We know that, but someone else will do it.”

“Who? You can’t cut this onion up. You might hurt yourself. And B is good in the kitchen, but I don’t want her to use the stove. She’s never lit the burners before.”

“Mommy, I know you can do all of it, but you’re supposed to be somewhere else right now. Don’t worry about this.”

Wondering what could be more important than this room packed with thing to be done, I glance at the clock and follow K through French doors. Seeing the orderly room as I walk through the entrance, I turn to make sure K doesn’t want me to finish in the kitchen. K is no longer there, the doors closed firmly behind her. I try the door, but can’t get it open.

Turning, I see a rolltop wooden desk and leather desk chair, surrounded by books, Bibles, a concordance and a cup full of pens and pencils in every color. The walls of the room are lined with shelves and filled from baseboard to ceiling with books. I walk over to a wall and emit a small sigh as I realize there’s a copy of The Book Thief. I’ve been wanting to re-read it to pay close attention to the style of writing and see if it can help me improve. Oh! There’s so much to learn here! My heart gives a little leap as I walk towards the chair.

At the last moment, someone touches my shoulder. I look over to see A there. “Hey, honey! Isn’t this room great? Have you seen all of the books? Have you already picked something to read? There’s so much to choose from I can’t decide where to start. I did my Bible Study this morning, but look at this concordance. I’ve never used this one before.”

“Mom, it is a great room, but you’re supposed to be somewhere else right now.”

“A, what is going on with you and your sisters? I can understand B not wanting me to sit and rest with all of that work waiting in the kitchen, but I’m a little suspicious that K really has someone else to take care of the kitchen. Since she’s locked me out of there, I figure I might as well make myself at home in here.”

“Mom, you are instantly at home in this room. That’s why you’re supposed to be somewhere else.”

“Can’t I stay for a little while?”

“No. I know that’s hard for you to hear, but you really do need to be somewhere else.”

“But, why? Doing Bible Study isn’t a bad thing and some of these books would really help me write. I’ve been struggling with how to mesh dialogue with description.”

“Mom, you know I love to read as much as you do. But do you let me read all the time? No, you drive me back and forth to ballet so that I’ll have something in my life that isn’t entirely within my head. Haven’t you always prayed for me that I would learn to listen to my heart and my head? That I would know there is more to me than just my quick mind?”

“Well, yes, I have. Wait! How do you know what I pray for you?!”

“We can talk about that later. You really are supposed to be somewhere else right now.”

Annoyed, confused and a tad angry, I walk through the door A indicates and slam it shut behind me, only to wheel around and try to reopen it when my eyes adjust to my surroundings. The door not only won’t open, it’s not there anymore. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and open them slowly, hoping I’ll be back at home – or even in one of the other odd rooms I’ve been in so far.

Instead, I see every mistake I’ve ever made playing across the walls of the cavernous space while people laugh uproariously. I watch in horror for a moment, then creep to a corner, hoping not to be noticed. Once there, I am panicked to see something even worse than my mistakes on display. I try to position myself to keep them hidden when I see J start across the room towards me. In spite of all he is seeing about me, he smiles warmly as he joins me in my little corner. As he stands beside me, he looks at the wall and says, “Shannon, why didn’t you tell me you want to write a novel? You could have shared that with me.” A little taken aback, I realize that there are hopes here that are so deeply buried within me that I haven’t even shared them with J. That makes me sad for a moment, but then the panic returns and I look around for something to throw over the wall to cover it.

“There’s no hiding things in this room – not your mistakes or your hopes.”

“What is this place and why are all of these people here?” I ask him.

“You brought them here. If you didn’t fear their laughter, their knowledge of your failures, their trodding on your dreams, they wouldn’t be here. But you do fear that, so here they are. Are you ready to leave?”

While I should jump at the chance to leave this room, I am suddenly hesitant. This room is the worst so far. At least in each of the other rooms, there was something I could do. Here, I simply stand crippled. Yet I am afraid to leave. If I open the door to go out, who might come in? What if my friends see all of this? They would never want to talk to me again. How can J even stand the sight of me after seeing for himself? Maybe if I stay, I could get these people out and lock the door behind them. That would leave me all alone, but at least I could make sure no one else ever sees this stuff.

J seems to read my thoughts and says, “Shannon, no one else cares about this. We all have rooms like this. You only feel this way in yours. If you saw mine, you would be filled with love for me, just like I am for you. Our girls were right, you know. You are supposed to be somewhere else right now. We all love you so much and so does the one waiting for you there.”

He hugs me tightly, gently puts his arm around me and walks with me to a large glass door framed with ornately carved wood. He gives me a kiss and opens the door.

Trembling slightly, I leave fear’s darkness behind and step into blinding light and onto the precipice.