The Key

     It's Sunday and Easter is here.  As I sit and drink my early cup of morning joe over-looking my friendly shade I can't help but reminisce back to my childhood when I was anxiously getting all dressed up in my new frills and lace and admiring my basket filled with all those different colored Easter eggs.

     But, more than that, the early morning hours bring peace and harmony as I think back to a key hanging from a nail on the old plank walls of my home.  The key was long and thin with an oil-rubbed bronze finish.

     "Mom," I questioned, "why is that key always hanging on that nail? "

     "My child, that key hangs on a nail for anyone who wants to pick it up and find the door it will open," she explained.

     "But you never take it off the nail to open a door?" I continued to question.

     Mom replied, "I don't have to.  I have my very own key just like that one."

     In my child-like wonder, I quickly dismissed the key hanging on that nail and ran outside to play.  Playing was much more important.

     Yet, there were days I would run through the house and see my mom looking up at that key on the nail with a smile.  Then one day I stopped and asked, "Mom, when are you going to show me the door that key on the nail will open?  It's got cobwebs, and it's just hanging there on the nail."

     Mom pondered for a moment before answering, "Those cobwebs will be all wiped away when you decide you want to find the door it will open, and only you are the one who can find the door-  much like finding Easter eggs."

     I simply shrugged my shoulders and thought, "Who wants to find an old door that a key will open?  It'll just be another room anyway."  And I quickly went out to play. 

     Then one day I found myself standing in front of the key hanging on that nail.  It was covered in dust.  As I stood there in utter disgust from that dust covering what was once a polished, shiny oil-rubbed bronze key, I quickly grabbed a rag, pulled up a chair, and reached for that key.  No sooner had I stood up in the chair than the dust fell away on its own.  I was startled and afraid.  I suddenly just wanted to go back outside to play.  But something was tugging inside of me.  It was pulling me back toward that key.  I slowly turned my thoughts away from playing and back to that key hanging on a nail.  Playing wasn't important anymore.  That key just did not belong on a nail hanging from  those rough plank boards.  My hand slowly reached out to wrap my fingers around the key and remove it off that nail.  As I reached up I saw a drop of blood touch my hand.  As quickly as it appeared, it disappeared leaving my hand snowy white.  I heard a sound ringing in my ears.  It shouted, "Father forgive them."  A teardrop fell from my face as I dashed from the chair with the key in my hand.  
     I was ten years old as I ran to my mom holding the key that had been hanging on that nail.  "Mom,"  I shouted in my excitement, "I know what door this key that's been hanging on the nail opens."

     She hugged me as joy filled my soul. 

     It's Easter, He is risen, and Jesus is alive!

*This story is fictional and inspired by a slogan I saw that started something like this: "The key to Heaven hangs from a nail..."