I live in a biggish, smallish city in the middle-ish part of the country with a medium size population of citizens. The crime rate isn't sky-high, but there are definitely some hard characters in certain parts of town. There are also really good characters. I've met a lot of them. Really kind and friendly people who will listen to you and give you advice. But there's one character that lives in this town who's unlike anyone else.
I've heard about him my whole life, but I've never met him. I haven't seen him, but people always say that he's one of a kind. I've heard stories about how he gives generously to poor folks. He's a doctor, too. Some one else said that he's one of those psychologists. He lets children play in his front yard and he sometimes appears at local bookstores to read stories to them. The city's orchestra performed an original composition written by him. Even some of his paintings and sculptures have appeared in the town's annual art festival.
Once, I visited an elderly woman's house and saw the most beautiful book shelf in her living room. She claimed that he made it for her and gave it as a gift. He even planted a flower garden in her backyard. The woman said that he was the most charitable, kind-hearted, yet mysterious man she had ever met. I've heard many people describe him as "strange." They've said that he's just a lonely man who enjoys watching people from his window and reading books all day--maybe even challenging himself to a game of chess from time to time.I've never known what to think of him. I was always awful curious about him. If I could just get a good look at him, maybe even say hello and introduce myself, then maybe I could have my own opinion about him.
One day I decided that I wanted to meet him face to face. I took a walk to his house and stood gazing at it for the longest time. It wasn't like me at all to introduce myself to strangers. I don't even like striking up conversations with people I see every day. I guess it's just because I'm shy. I started to practice my introduction to the air.
"Hello, sir.... uh... it's uh... nice to meet you... I've heard a lot about you, sir, and well.... I just.... Oh that sounds stupid! No, no. Uh.... uh....." I stood there without saying a word. I started pacing back and forth on the sidewalk.
Finally, I mustered up the courage to walk to the doorstep. I noticed a plaque above the frame that had a phrase inscribed on it. It read: "Ask and it will be given. Seek and you will find. Knock and the door will be opened." I made a weak fist, raised it to the surface of the wood, and gave a reluctant knock.
After a long moment, there was no answer. I thought that I didn't knock loud enough. I slowly knocked again, but more forcefully this time. Still no answer. Maybe he wasn't at home this time of the day. I looked at my watch and made a note to try again at a different time... maybe on another day. I walked away occasionally looking back at the house wondering when I would have enough courage to knock again.
I went through the whole week with that man on my mind. I couldn't fall asleep because I was thinking so much about that afternoon. The phrase above his door kept replaying in my head... "Knock and the door will be opened.... knock.... knock...." It was driving me crazy. I woke up early the next morning shortly after the sun came up. I sat up in bed thinking about going to knock again. Just so I could see him.
Before I knew it, I was dressed, my shoes were tied, and I was walking out of my house toward his in a mission-like manner. Nothing stopped me. Even when I reached the front yard, I kept marching to the door. I didn't hesitate this time. I just knocked long and hard. No answer. I paused for a few moments, read the plaque again, and raised up my knocker. Before I could plant the first one, I heard someone behind me.
"He's not going to open the door for you," he said with his bike handles in each hand, standing a few yards away and erect with a sure facial expression. Surprised and uncertain of what to say, I stood there looking and feeling stupid.
"I.... I just.... wanted to see if he would..."
"Well he's not gonna. I've never seen him before in my life. I'm not even sure if he's alive anymore. I heard that he died years ago. And even if he was alive, he wouldn't let anyone in his house. He's not very hospitable. You have to be in the major leagues, a real VIP, in order to get his attention. You might as well just forget it. Why do you care so much anyway? You want something from him? You down on your luck? Well he ain't no wishin' well. Fat chance you'll get anything out of him."
"Oh.... I see.... well.... thanks for the tip," I said with a melancholy voice.
"Yup." He rode off toward down town.
I turned back to face the door and read those words once more--one last time before I walked away. That was the last time I went to his house for months. And those months became years. My life changed a lot in some ways, but I pretty much stayed the same. I started a career, got married, bought a house and a new car, and had a few kids. Life got so busy, I had almost forgotten about that man. Sometimes when I was alone, I would think about the door and those words, but then I would push that memory away.
Slowly, my life seemed to fall apart. I thought that the one I married was committed to me, but I turned out to be wrong. Money became tighter than ever. My life seemed to repeat itself day after day. It felt meaningless and I fell into a deep depression. I tried to make my laughs sound genuine when my children told me jokes, but they never felt real. One night, I thought long and hard about life--too hard. I started sobbing because of the intense feeling of emptiness.
Then, I thought about the man. My thoughts battled each other.
"Maybe he could.... I don't know.... help me?"
"Help me? With WHAT?! Is he going to rub my head and pat the back of my hand?"
"Maybe he'll listen."
"He's probably not even alive anymore! Don't count on it. He won't even answer his own door."
"Why did he have a plaque that said 'Knock and the door will be open?'"
That phrase again. It gripped me. I could almost feel it... like it was pulling me downstairs toward my front door, through my front lawn and down the street on the sidewalk. I started to jog a little and that jog turned into a sprint through downtown. I zigzagged among groups of people walking on the strip, hopped over fire hydrants a few times, and ignored the comments of people as they saw me running in such an urgent manner.
It was a really strange phenomenon. My body never felt tired even though it was at least a 5 mile trek to the man's house. I finally saw the house from a hundred yards away and my eyes gazed on it until I met the front steps of the door. A chill had settled after the sunset and now that I had stopped running, I felt it even more.
It was the first time in a long time that I stood facing that door. This time there no hint of reluctance. I boldly beat my knuckles against the polished wood. I knocked again and again and again and again. It seemed that several minutes had passed, but I kept knocking. It was as if fire was shooting through my muscles keeping my arm from tiring. Suddenly, the fire quit. I lowered my hand and sighed. I groaned, stomped my foot, sat down on the front step, and started to weep. All hope was completely lost and I didn't know what else to do but sit there and cry until it hurt.
It almost started to hurt until I heard the loud squeak of hinges. Oh, the beautiful, beautiful sound of an opening door! I flung my head around and looked up. There stood the man. He was tall and stately with a handsome face and piercing eyes. My muscles locked.
You know the kind of awkward feeling you have when someone catches you crying on their doorstep?
I shot up, straightened my shirt, and stuck my hand out.
"Hello, sir."
He grabbed my hand and gave a hearty shake.
"I've been waiting for you to come knocking on my door."
I didn't know how to respond to his shocking statement, but before I said something, he invited me inside. I walked in and gazed at his beautiful hard wood floors, elegant walls, and numerous paintings--some where classics and originals and others were finger paintings and framed drawings of stick figures. This really puzzled me. We walked into the library. There was a fire place with two large arm chairs surrounded by book cases that reached the ceiling. I quickly scanned the titles of the books written in gold letters. They were history books, psychology books, botany, chemistry, anatomy, mathematics, economics, physics, philosophy, classic literature, Latin, Greek, gardening, carpentry, culinary, best-sellers, dictionaries and encyclopedias. This guy was smart.
He invited me to take one of the chairs in front of the fire place. When he invited me, he used my name. I had not told him my name before. I was puzzled again, but I didn't say anything. I couldn't speak. Sitting in front of that man was like sitting on top of a mountain. I don't know what it was about him, but I could hardly move and when I did move, it was in very slow, heavy motion.
He asked me what was troubling me and suddenly my mouth started to work again. In fact, I was spilling out words a hundred miles a minute and then tears started to run down my face. Suddenly I found myself kneeling on the floor in front of him. I told him more than I had ever shared with any other person in my entire life--all of my hang ups and pet peeves and failures and depressing thoughts. I felt tension leave my body and this really peaceful feeling loosened my muscles. I felt like I had just left a massage therapist--a really good one. The best one in the world.
I took a deep breath and looked at him. He started talking. The sound of his voice is extremely hard to describe, but it was the best sound I've ever heard. His words were like smooth water and then like fire. He told me things that I wished I had heard years ago. He talked to my depression and sickness like they were robbers in my house. He told them to get out. This would seem strange to anyone listening, but to me, it was exactly what I needed and was the most logical thing in the world to do. I stood up straight and felt strength again. I felt like my life was worth something for the first time.
After meeting him, I have not been the same in any way. The doctors told me that the sickness that was ruling in my body was gone. Money seemed to pour in from unexpected sources. I could laugh real laughs at my children's jokes and pain from my broken marriage was restored when I called and gave forgiveness.
After that night, I have come back to the man's house many times. I've brought my family to see him and there have been many occasions where I've brought complete strangers with me as I was walking to see him. I have never seen anyone like him and never in my life have I seen so many very unlikely things happen nor drastic life change until the night I knocked on his door.
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