Locked Out

    Looking forward to a Friday night all to meself, even so I teared up -- actually broke down, sobbing, as my four ( yes, four, Emily is as much a part of us as we are ) grown kids drove off in the spring sunshine for a weekend at her folks'.  This spring, at once, holds promise and challenge, and I am plumb wore out, as locals might exclaim. Zeus stayed behind to keep Shiloh company, and I left them to play in our gianormous yard.
    I grabbed a beer that my pseudo-sister Nancy had brought the night before, made myself a late lunch, and launched into a weekend of having the house all to myself -- when I realized that someone, possibly me, had turned the lock on my bedroom door and pulled it shut to keep out the Doggie Duo until bedtime. I didn't even know it had a key lock on it.
   Huh. I can pick this lock, I said to myself, I used to pick the lock on my old Buick back in the 80's with a barrette. No sweat.
    Sweat. Lots of sweat, compounded by the fact that my contact lenses are for distance and I can't focus close up with them in, and my contact case and solution sat quietly on the counter of my bathroom. On the other side of the locked door. Couldn't take them out either because my spares? Also in my bathroom.
   All righty then. Felt for a key on top of the doorjamb. No dice.
   I'll dismantle the doorknob. Easy enough, right?
   Two slightly sliced fingers later, not so easy. Door still locked. Tools bloody. Deep breath.
    Called the nice man I lease from and ask him if by chance he has the key -- he didn't know, either, that the set had been replaced with a key lock. No dice, again. Said to call him if I needed help.
   I don't call for help easily. Intelligent, capable, and with the Internet at my injured fingertips, I figured I could do it myself.
   A MacGyver type maneuver which involves tying dental floss to a piece of paper, slipping over the door and retrieving under the door to tie to the vacuum cleaner cord in an attempt to slip over the doorknob was to no avail...
...so I finally got a hammer and beat the thing off the door.
   Also chipped a little chunk out of the façade of the hollow-core door. In my leased house. Damn it. Damn damn damn. There's more money for repairs that I DON'T HAVE. Damn.
   In tears, sweaty, alone, and supremely irritated at myself for not asking for help, I finally took my contacts out  and had a shower and a sob.
    "I HATE MY FREAKIN LIFE!!" more than likely echoed out into the street through my open bathroom window, which I could not climb into a) because it is four feet of the ground and b) with storm window bolted-in screenage on it. ( Good thing in case of burglars... bad thing when locked out of said master bedroom.)
    As in days of old and in Seventh-day Adventist circles, on Saturday I rested. Stayed home from dawn to dusk, and beyond dusk.
   This morning I went old-school and walked to church, like people used to do in the Dick and Jane days. I haven't been to church since before we moved, since we were moving, and then the day I got ready to go back, Randall got sick. So, keeping in the theme of Staycation weekend, I decided to be a visitor at the Catholic church around the corner.
    The sermon had to do with loss. Typically Catholic ( focusing on suffering) the priest mused that our very birth is the first loss we know. I kept listening, as he talked about Christ facing his human loss. Loss of family, loss of friends, loss of His life, to gain glory. I listened as the priest recounted the Scripture, 'whosoever hates his life here on earth shall gain it in glory'.
     Meandering home in the spring sunshine, I thought of the losses I've had, and how I have fought to hang on to what I thought I needed, and how hating my life at times when it's difficult is not necessarily a sin. It means I'm longing for something better, instead of being complacent.
     I've struggled with faith and relationships, like I struggled with that locked door. I've hammered some people, and regretted it. I've hammered some churches and regretted it.
     During Randall's illness, the friends I never tried desperately to unlock are the ones who are there for us. The faith that I worked so hard to defend and uphold and unlock in others is the faith that came out of my throat this morning, singing songs I'd never heard, as easily as if I grew up with them because I simply listened to the melody and joined in.
    Jesus came to the world of oppressive government and oppressive religion to tell everyone to lighten up. In an agrarian society, where you starved if you didn't work yourself to death in the fields, he said, " My yoke is easy and my burden light." " Love others as I have loved you." " Treat  others as you want to be treated."  He didn't go militant and raise a campaign fund to fight the Romans and the Pharisees, and the only time He got seriously angry was in the Temple.It was His house, and people had set up shop. He kicked over the tables and sent people running to restore serenity and reverence to His house.  I'd run if God was kicking over tables, too. Whew.
    Today I'm not locked out anymore. I don't need to get in to where I think I belong...I just need to take a walk and get to where I'm supposed to be. There are Footprints ahead. if I look for them and put my little feet in their imprints, I'll get there faster.