The Door and the New Me


There has to be a place or thing in everyone’s life that stands out. I’m not necessarily talking about a place where some major happening occurred, but one that holds a special spot in your heart. Let me explain what I mean.

My front door. Yep. The front door of my home in Normandy Park, Washington, where I grew up, really stood out. In the sixteen years I lived there, I’m sure I opened and closed that door a million times.  However, the last few years living there, about a handful of times I walked out of that house one way, only to come back different. Not that the door was different, but I was different. Once home, opening that door sort of symbolized opening up this new thing about me to my family.

The first time that happened was when I was eighteen. I was being picked up by my best friend, on our way to a Christian camp. I opened that door and left, thinking about many things. Having just graduated from high school, and having just had a tougher than normal summer, I sure was confused with life ahead. What college route to take, when to get a decent job, and how to deal with family problems going on were all heavy on my mind as I shut that front door as I left. But more so was that lack of peace in my own heart, confused about the God I grew up with and the God I had been hearing about the last few months. This Christian camp I was going to with a friend, I hoped, could answer my questions.

When I was dropped off at my home five days later, I walked up to that front door thinking, “First time I’m opening this door understanding what ‘born again’ and ‘being saved’ really means.” To make a long story short, at that camp God opened my eyes to what being a true believer really meant. No more trusting my own beliefs; no more following the traditions of what I grew up believing, or my own attempts at being ‘holy.’ One day at that camp, things finally made sense. Or, should I say, one day at that camp, Christ opened my eyes and my heart, showing me what saving grace and faith really meant. He was my new Father and I was His child. AMEN!

When I walked up to that front door, I knew I was still a sinner, but now a forgiven sinner who hated her sin. Today, thirty-three years later, I still remember feeling God’s love and presence when I opened that door.


I was entering my house as happy as could be, but also a bit nervous, knowing that once that door opened, I would be the only one in my home claiming this ‘born again’ title. An awkward feeling, indeed.

Thankfully, I had Christ as my constant companion while turning that knob, no matter what I was going to face.

Why am I sharing this? Because the next time I write I’ll talk about the opening of that front door a year later to a different new me. That new me has already been introduced in my last few posts which is what my published book, God and Your Pillow, is about. (1*) 

I am eager to know if any of you can picture a certain place or thing that stands out. Could it be a door for you, as well? How about a car, or a stuffed animal? If something comes to mind, please share. What or where it is would be good enough, or, better yet, a simple reason as to why it’s special to you. I look forward to reading.

Marianne Petersen’s book God and Your Pillow is now available. (Amazon) – You can follow Marianne on Twitter at @mariannesmemoirs and read more on her blog, mariannesmemoirs.com.

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