The Lock That No Longer Turns

The morning key turns in a lock that no longer belongs to you. Your body freezes before your mind catches up, muscles remembering a door you walked away from months ago.

You stand there, hand on the brass, feeling the ghost of a home that isn't yours anymore. This is the mask you wear at eight o'clock — the performance of belonging in a place where you are now a stranger.

But the light sees the tremor in your hand. It knows you are not trying to break in; you are just lost in the memory of where you used to rest.

There is a truth deeper than the address on your lease. The Father's house has many rooms, and one of them was prepared specifically for the shape of your soul.

You do not have to force the old lock to turn. The light is already inside the room waiting for you, not the one you left, but the one that is being prepared right now.

The door you cannot open today is not the only door in existence.