Andrew stood on the sidewalk, his heart pounding in his ears. The paint was faded and peeling, but he’d recognize that door anywhere. The only house on the street with a bright yellow door. His mom insisted it was welcoming. Hopefully that was still true. Would he be welcome? After running and off and joining the army without so much as a goodbye, would his parents still want to see him? He wasn’t that reckless 18-year-old anymore. Four years in the service would mature anyone.

Both cars sat in the driveway. They were both here. All he had to do was walk through the door and he’d know whether he still had a home. So why was this so hard? He was the one who walked away. He knew where to find them, but hadn’t left them a way to contact him. Shame welled up. What had he been thinking? Freedom. He’d wanted to prove he was a man and didn’t need anyone.

Andrew squeezed his eyes shut. He’d been so wrong. What he’d give for one of his mama’s hugs, or a slap on the back from Dad. He sucked in a breath and took the slow walk down the driveway. He hesitated on the tiny porch and ran his hand over the door. Home. This was home. Did Mom still leave it unlocked? Dad had tried–told her it wasn’t safe, but any time Andrew or his brothers were out of the house, Mom kept the door unlocked. “What if they forgot their key? The boys need to be able to get in.”

Andrew moved his hand to the knob. Surely Mom wasn’t still waiting for him to come home after four years. He wiped his palms on his uniform pants and reached for the knob. It turned in his hand.

He blew out a breath and eased the door open. The aroma of sausage and maple syrup assaulted his senses. Mom’s pancakes were the best he’d ever had. He closed the door behind him and stepped into the kitchen. Mom stood at the stove, flipping pancakes. Andrew’s stomach rumbled. The granola bar he’d eaten on the red-eye flight did little to curb his hunger.   

He stood silently, watching Mom. The tears streamed down his cheeks. Dad stepped into the kitchen and froze when he saw him. Dad touched Mom on the shoulder. “Kathy, turn around.”

Mom turned, and when her gaze landed on Andrew, her spatula clattered to the ground. “Andrew. Finally.” Her voice was breathless. She launched herself into his arms, nearly knocking him over. Andrew breathed in the scent of lavender and maple syrup and squeezed her tightly. A moment later, strong arms wrapped around his back and Dad’s aftershave mingled with the other aromas. After a few tear-filled moments, Mom and Dad released him.

“Thanks for leaving the door open for me.”

Mom reached up and cupped his check with her hand. “Always, son. Welcome home.”

John 10:9

I am the door. If anyone enters by Me, he will be saved.

Revelation 3:20

Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me.

God, You tell us in Your word that Jesus is the door by which we must enter into Your presence. We also learn that Jesus knocks at the door to our hearts. Thank You that the door to You is never locked from Your side. You are always available to us whenever we are ready to come to You. What a blessing to know we are always welcome, no matter what we’ve done. We don’t deserve Your love and acceptance, but You give it to us all the same. Thank You for the open door into Your kingdom. In Jesus’ name, Amen.