The Silent Door

I knock on the door, a one-knuckle rap. A normal person knock. A non-threatening knock. Three gentle taps against the metal door. No response. I take a deep breath, compose myself, wait the allotted few seconds and knock again. No response. I have an inner-debate as to whether I should take my knocking to stage 2: Pounding. That side-of-my-fist pounding, my anger loosed upon that uncompromising door.

I’ve tried that rage-knock in past visits. One time around Christmas, as my knocks went unanswered, this mental picture developed in my mind quite clearly. Kids were running around happily, the glow of the Christmas tree illuminating the walls with bright and warm colors, presents stacked under that majestically lit massive tree, all wrapped beautifully. Egg nog was being swilled, Christmas carols sung, chestnuts roasting, maybe even Kris Kringle himself was sitting in a recliner, sipping milk and nibbling on sugar cookies. So…