I heard those words almost eight years ago at age 24. Words you never expect. Words you hope will never come. But they did. What will you do when the unexpected comes? When a crisis comes crashing through your life? How will you cope? To whom will you turn? This book will not explain why bad things happen to good people. But it does explain how to remain in God’s joy, despite the unwanted circumstances. Learn from a thief who discovered that paradise is only a request away. Come out of the shadows with a Pharisee who found more than answers in a midnight encounter with Christ. Fill your heart with joy as you see Jesus, not grimacing, but smiling on the cross as he thought of you. Join a husband as he hold his five week old son in the absence of his wife. From The Introduction “Life’s not fair,” crosses thousands of lips a day. I know those words have rolled off my tongue before. Life’s unfairness can cause us to sacrifice our joy and contentment by making us feel that only when things are fair will we celebrate. Only when everything appears to be going our way will we rejoice in the moment. Soft Knocks Opens Big Doors is about learning to celebrate regardless of the circumstances. It’s a book about learning to dance to a scratched record. It’s about learning to feel an inner joy in the middle of outer turmoil. It’s an invitation to accept a gift that God provides no matter how rough the sea of life. It’s about entering, and dwelling in, God’s joy. From The Back CoverTired of beating on the heart of God? Do your fists ache? Are your knuckles raw? Do you wonder just how hard you have to pound to get His attention? Maybe it’s time to stop banging and start trusting. Trust Him to hear your quiet voice in the middle of a hectic day. Trust Him to answer a whispered prayer on a crowded highway. Trust Him to invite you to enter His joy regardless of the circumstances. Discover that a soft knock on the heart of God opens big doors.
Soft Knocks Open Big Doors: Chapter One Death seldom knocks softly. After a diaper change, father and son nestled in a couch corner. Remote control in one hand and a formula-filled bottle in the other. "He's so small. It's hard to believe that this little man will grow up and have a wife and child of his own" this young dad thought. "Still so new. Life is just beginning for you." Parenthood, and reality, were making a new
start in our home. "Are you feeling any better?" I asked. "Did your bath help any?" "I feel a little better," she weakly replied. I continued with my boy's brunch as she fell asleep. Life seemed perfect in the picture painted in our home. A healthy baby boy rested in the arms of his naive father. A beautiful wife dozed beside a proud pop. Visions of the Cleaver household came to mind. In a sheltered part of the world we existed as a perfect family. Moments like those made blessing counting easy. Minutes later, body convulsions interrupted the daydream. I shook her thinking a nightmare caused the disturbance. No response. "Sherri, wake up. You're having a bad dream." A stronger shake. Met again with no response. "Sherri! Sherri! Sherri! Wake up!" Fumbling with the receiver I dialed 911 for the first time in my life. Time blurs when tragedy strikes. Pain freezes the clock. It only took minutes for the police to arrive, but it felt like hours. That calm happy father dis-appeared, replaced with one of panic. From the doorway I waved frantically for the officer to hurry to the second floor apartment. Baby Sam screamed as Sherri turned pale and cold. Tears soaked my face. Incoherent mutterings poured from my mouth. The perfect peace that existed only moments before was now immersed in chaos. Finally, the ambulance sirens marked the arrival of hope. The medical team rushed to do everything possible to save a life. The life of an individual they did not know. A much needed, much loved, wife and mother. "We'll have to take her to the hospital," some-one said. (That day was filled with strangers whose names may never be learned, but whose faces will forever be imprinted in a man's agonizing memory. Strangers with a key to life.) "Is she breathing?" I asked. "Not on her own." Holding on to hope, I prayed that everything would be all right. Believing that in a few days normality would return. Hoping the picture that pre-ceded this emotional chaos could soon be touched up, straightened and placed back on the wall as only a reflection of the past. When nothing else remains to give confidence, you turn to hope, even when the evidence points the other way. Strapped to a transport unit the medical team carried Sherri to the ambulance. With each step they continued giving every effort to secure her life. The ambulance sped to the hospital, as a neighbor followed with me as his numbed passenger. A friend's wife stayed behind with Sam. Racing through the Emergency Room entrance in panic, a nurse directed me to a waiting room. A room where hundreds have waited before with the same hope, the same prayer. A tiny room. Small and lonely. Six chairs, a lamp, a clock, a phone and a box of tissue. Ill-fitted for the bearing of sorrow, or a celebration of good news. What would this day hold? No family arrived yet, they were still forty-five minutes away. The clock barely clicked off the seconds, and each tick brought with it doubt. The minister of the congregation I worked with arrived, as did the secretary. What do you do in a time like this as a minister? What can you say? Could anything be done to ease the thoughts of the un-known, the uncertainty of a life? Fifteen minutes passed when the doctors entered the waiting area. A young man is ready for some good news. At the very least, "She's in critical condition, but we believe she is going to pull through." Dr. Hagues asked for the details of the morning, and the events surrounding the convulsions. I chronicled the morning with tears. Then without warning the storm hit. "I'm sorry, Mr. Evans," Dr. Hagues said, "But your wife has passed away." At twenty-seven my wife was gone. No words can express how I felt. Emptied, depressed, shocked, confused, wounded, all terms are all inadequate. All words are meaningless when it comes to the loss of what means the most to you on this earth. The next few weeks are still indistinct. Numb comes to mind. Numb while words of supposed comfort streamed in from every venue. "At least she's in a better place." "God has a reason for everything." "It's not fair for her to die so young." "It was her time to go." While those words were kind, and the people sincere, they did not bring comfort. I didn't even agree with most statements that were offered. Hurting and confused, how was I going to get my life on track? How was I going to take care of a one month old alone? I knew I couldn't do it alone. The prayers go up and the blessings come down. It is hard to comprehend how many people launch into prayer when an unexpected disaster strikes. Letters, cards and calls came from around the nation, and with them the comfort of the Father. A comfort no one else could provide. Can I ask a personal question? What storm are you in? What steals your joy? Monotony? Depression? Worry? Non-commitment? The bills? The kids? The religious rigamarole? The death of a loved one? What is it in your life that drains your spirit? Together we will open the book of promises. We will learn how to approach and welcome the Father's joy. Learn from a thief's final request for remembrance, an arrogant commander's humbled expectations, a guest's walk to worship, and others. Others who have been there - where you are now, where you have been, or where you may be going. Each chapter will provide a piece needed for deep-rooted joy. Joy that continues in the face of adversity. The pain, sorrow and tears will still come, but the joy will remain. As we travel together let's pack a sweet
promise: Don't worry when you call, His promise says that He is close. Not just living with you, living within you. Allow the Lord's joy and security to wrap your life. He can take the pain, the sorrow, the discontentment and turn you back to joy. Do you want that? Do you believe it is possible? Ask my sons as they play. Ask my heavenly Father.
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