In the 1990s, during the crack epidemic, we often searched vacant buildings in high-crime areas for users and dealers. One night, three of us stopped at an empty two-story apartment. The door was open so we searched it room by room. Once we cleared the apartment, we ended up on the second floor. We lingered there a few minutes and talked. It was a needed break from the night’s chaos. 

I walked over to a window to see what was happening below. The streetlight shone in, offering some light for the dark room. A closet door was open against the wall. As I approached the window, I noticed movement behind the door. That’s when the sinking feeling hit. 

I jumped backward and drew my gun. In that split second, I knew we had messed up. I hoped no one would get hurt. I shouted in my stress-induced Mickey Mouse voice, “Get your hands up!” I think I scared everyone in the room. 

We had let our guard down. There was a man behind that door the whole time. He listened to everything we said. We missed him and it could have ended badly. Thankfully, he wasn’t armed and he surrendered peacefully. 

As a young man, I spent a lot of energy searching. I just didn’t know what I was looking for. One night, I watched a Christian talk show on a small black-and-white TV. I wasn’t sure why, but I was drawn to it. The host claimed I was searching for Jesus, and He was on the other side of the door.

The more I listened, the more I realized he was right. But Jesus wasn’t hiding behind the door, He was knocking on it. The door was the entrance to my heart. He waited for permission to enter. In the Bible, Jesus says, “Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me.” Revelation 3:20

Jesus was there the whole time. I just didn’t realize it. I opened the door that night and surrendered peacefully. I haven’t been the same since.