Or

I don't always close doors.  In fact, my husband is always reminding me to close them.  My car door often catches on my seat belt.  My front door just doesn't always latch.  The bedroom door doesn't want to click...closed. 

There is something about a clean transition from one thing to another, that closing of a door, that I don't seem to focus on.

Sitting in my truck today, in my driveway because I had no where to go and did not want to waste gas on no where, I pondered about where I am.  And I am at that threshold.  That place of not there anymore and not quite there.  My door is slightly ajar because I don't know if I want to go toward what is on the other side.  My who am I and why am I and what am I doing questions are all threshold questions.  They are a door, waiting for direction.  Shall I be here or there?  Should I do this or that. 

I don't know if it is fear that prevents me from closing doors.  I certainly do want to be right, choose rightly, land on the side of all that is right.  But is it fear of being wrong?  Or do I just want to keep my options open? 

I want to do this AND be that.  I want to be here AND be there.  I want to be this AND that.  But to do that is to do neither and be no where.  It is to be no one.

Is this matter of being truly that difficult?  Why must I keep my options eternally open? 

As my mind and my prayers tossed these questions, with the car door open, I asked Him, what do I do?  I do not want to be here or there.  I do not want to be with them or alone.  I do not know how to be a good wife and the untamed spirit of the woman I am.  I do not know how to be the daughter of my God and the lover of this world.  I do not know how to choose.

And then I heard this small voice.  His?  Mine? This whisper from within, go write.

I closed a door.