In his book The Pressure’s Off, psychologist Larry Crabb tells this story from his childhood.
One Saturday afternoon, I decided I was a big boy and could use the bathroom without anyone’s help. So I climbed the stairs, closed and locked the door behind me, and for the next few minutes felt very self-sufficient.
Then it was time to leave. I couldn’t unlock the door. I tried with every ounce of my three-year-old strength, but I couldn’t do it. I panicked. I felt again like a very little boy as the thought went through my head, "I might spend the rest of my life in this bathroom."
My parents—and likely the neighbors—heard my desperate scream. "Are you okay?" Mother shouted through the door she couldn’t open from the outside. "Did you fall? Have you hit your head?" "I can’t unlock the door!" I yelled. "Get me out of here!"
I wasn’t aware of it right then, but Dad raced down the stairs, ran to the garage to find the ladder, hauled it off the hooks, and leaned it against the side of the house just beneath the bedroom window. With adult strength, he pried it open, then climbed into my prison, walked past me, and with that same strength, turned the lock and opened the door.
"Thanks, Dad," I said—and ran out to play.
That’s how I thought the Christian life was supposed to work… God shows up. He hears my cry—"Get me out of here! I want to play!"—and unlocks the door to the blessings I desire.
Sometimes he does. But now I’m realizing the Christian life doesn’t work that way. And I wonder, are any of us content with God? Do we even like him when he doesn’t open the door we most want opened—when a marriage doesn’t heal, when rebellious kids still rebel, when friends betray, our business fails, when financial reverses
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