The Door

There once was a wooden door.  The door was created to welcome those who passed through it, and therefore was quite beautiful.  With little time it became a symbol, the distinct attribute to which people recognized the building it graced. 

As most things change with time so did the door.  Paint was splashed and spread upon its surface to brighten the façade and draw the hectic crowds outside to the business within.  For a long while the method worked.  The vivid color caught the attention of its patrons, and when the paint faded or chipped more paint was simply applied to keep the door looking fresh and new. 

Still the day came when the door’s appearance could no longer be helped by paint.  Instead the layers of paint actually hindered the appearance of the door and less people passed through it. The door was soon discarded.  Its original design had long been forgotten, trapped beneath layers of faded paint.  And though the paint had once served the door, its owners, and the patrons well, eventually the paint only distorted the door and covered the reason why it had been placed there in the beginning. 

It was fortunate for the door that a carpenter happened upon it in the trash.  Instantly, the carpenter recognized what might lie beneath the layers and decided to take it home and see.  The process was not easy. The chemicals and tools used in stripping years and years of old identities away from the door were difficult. The carpenter cut away portions of the door’s frayed edges, and as the carpenter exposed more wood, the door realized how much it had come to rely on the paint covering it to define and hide what it really looked like.

When the last bit of paint was removed, the door felt naked and ugly.  Dry, exposed, and dull all it wanted was the comfort of the concealing paint. But with a satisfied grin, the carpenter looked on and continued to work.  After the rigors of removing the paint, trimming, and sanding the splinters and worn edges, the carpenter’s touch softened as he massaged oil into the grain of the wood.  The door soaked in the restoring fluid and began to remember its original design.  With the last of the oil rubbed in place, the carpenter stood back with another smile.  The door looked better than ever before. 

The next day the carpenter took the door to a smaller building and hung it up. There the door realized just how much the carpenter had done for it.  Not only had the carpenter taken it from the trash, he had made it new, recognizing the potential it held when stripped, reshaped and covered in nourishing oil.  The door also found a freedom in its new frame.  No longer did it feel pressured to bring people to the building.  Instead, every week the faithful patrons of the building entered by way of the door, happy to see it hanging there.  The door in turn welcomed each one joyfully and was especially delighted when the carpenter passed by and smiled. 

...wrote this to work out and express my take on a recent experience...hope it offers something to every reader.  With gratitude, Abby.