by Kally Reynolds, CPCC, ACC
Who answers the door when you come calling? When I was just out of college I worked for Fuller Brush. This once successful company sold quality brushes and cleaning products for the home, using door-to-door salespeople who gave small gifts as free samples.
I sold many brushes and cleaning products for Fuller Brush. Every neighborhood promised a new adventure. In those days, most people—usually women—were at home and welcomed a short friendly commercial break. People liked and wanted to buy Fuller Brush products.
Brad disagreed. A clean cut, fun-loving college student, he canvassed on one side of the street, while I handled the other. When I finished selling, Brad was already in the car waiting for me, having made no sales at all. So I went with Brad, and stayed back a few yards to see what was going on.
At the first house, the confident kid I knew wilted. Brad lowered his head, hunched his shoulders, took in a deep breath and rang the bell. The door opened. A woman talked with him briefly, accepted his free sample brush and shut the door. Brad trudged down the steps. A pep talk from me, and Brad straightened up. Then on he went to the next house, with me a few yards behind.
By the time he rang the doorbell, Brad looked worse, if possible, than he had at the house before. “Quick!” He told me. “Give me one of your cleaning samples.”
“Just give her a brush,” I told him, knowing that he had a full stock.
“I can’t,” he whispered. “I already gave that to her.”
It took me a second to grasp just who Brad was talking about. In his imagination, Brad had snatched the lady who had turned him down at the last house and lugged her over to this one. This “same woman” had already shut the door on him once and would doubtless do it again. And again.
I wonder. Who do we imagine is at the gateway of our opportunities, waiting for our knock? What if we (and/or our clients) are still carting around the woman (or man) who slammed the door on us (and them) many years before?
Now, let’s play another game: We ring the bell, ready to give away the gift of ourselves, a small sample of who we are. The door opens….
And there is Christ. Turns out He’s been waiting for us….
Who answers the door when you come calling?
Wishing you a week filled with many welcoming doorways,
Kally
kally rejoyc.com
Luke 11:9 -- "So I say to you, ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened to you.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Thursday, May 7, 2009
The Robin or the Birdbrain?
By Kally Reynolds
Have you ever heard a curious and reoccurring sound that filled you with foreboding? The first time I heard it I was upstairs in bed, still foggy with fading dreams, only half ready to face the dawn. Thud…..thud….thud….The sound came from downstairs. A few more thuds and then it vanished.
Two hours later the sound started again so I went down to investigate. No luck until I saw a small russet-colored bird with a light fuzzy underbelly fling itself against one of the plate-glass cathedral windows in the living room. On my side of the glass, a ceiling-high ficus tree stood proudly at attention. It was apparently luring the little wren to fly over for a visit….Thud.
To make its next assault, the bird hopped to the edge of the white pine tree on which it perched, getting as close to the glass as possible. Then came its leap of faith. Thud.
Persevering still, the wily wren selected a higher vantage point, and flew toward the ficus tree like a fighter pilot coming in for the kill. Thud….And yet the plucky wren seemed still undeterred. Time after time, the creature chose a new tactic to realize its cherished goal, its deadly dream.
Meanwhile on a budding alder tree nearby, a robin perched, alert and peaceful. Glancing at the wren, it seemed to take in the whole sorry mess, along with the rest of God’s kingdom, before soaring into the spring sky of the sun-drenched morning.
Poor wren. Just because it could not see the glass, the little creature believed that the barrier should not, could not, and therefore did not exist, despite all the painful evidence to the contrary. The wren wanted only what it could not have, and thus could not enjoy what God had given it: wings to fly and a song to sing.
Then I thought again of the robin and it was hard not to compare. While the wren used its God-given wings to whip itself into the window, the robin used its gift of flying to soar into the sky.
The ficus in my living room is 12 feet high and gleams with bushy green leaves that never go out of season. It is tall and beautiful. It is also a fake. Wish I could tell that to the wren.
What is that seemingly clear, open space that we cannot penetrate despite our best efforts? What is the ficus tree that beckons, enticing us on the other side of the glass?
The robin and the wren. Both birds can fly -- yet, one soars and the other acts like a birdbrain. Which one has a song to sing for you?
Have you ever heard a curious and reoccurring sound that filled you with foreboding? The first time I heard it I was upstairs in bed, still foggy with fading dreams, only half ready to face the dawn. Thud…..thud….thud….The sound came from downstairs. A few more thuds and then it vanished.
Two hours later the sound started again so I went down to investigate. No luck until I saw a small russet-colored bird with a light fuzzy underbelly fling itself against one of the plate-glass cathedral windows in the living room. On my side of the glass, a ceiling-high ficus tree stood proudly at attention. It was apparently luring the little wren to fly over for a visit….Thud.
To make its next assault, the bird hopped to the edge of the white pine tree on which it perched, getting as close to the glass as possible. Then came its leap of faith. Thud.
Persevering still, the wily wren selected a higher vantage point, and flew toward the ficus tree like a fighter pilot coming in for the kill. Thud….And yet the plucky wren seemed still undeterred. Time after time, the creature chose a new tactic to realize its cherished goal, its deadly dream.
Meanwhile on a budding alder tree nearby, a robin perched, alert and peaceful. Glancing at the wren, it seemed to take in the whole sorry mess, along with the rest of God’s kingdom, before soaring into the spring sky of the sun-drenched morning.
Poor wren. Just because it could not see the glass, the little creature believed that the barrier should not, could not, and therefore did not exist, despite all the painful evidence to the contrary. The wren wanted only what it could not have, and thus could not enjoy what God had given it: wings to fly and a song to sing.
Then I thought again of the robin and it was hard not to compare. While the wren used its God-given wings to whip itself into the window, the robin used its gift of flying to soar into the sky.
The ficus in my living room is 12 feet high and gleams with bushy green leaves that never go out of season. It is tall and beautiful. It is also a fake. Wish I could tell that to the wren.
What is that seemingly clear, open space that we cannot penetrate despite our best efforts? What is the ficus tree that beckons, enticing us on the other side of the glass?
The robin and the wren. Both birds can fly -- yet, one soars and the other acts like a birdbrain. Which one has a song to sing for you?
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