"When God closes a door, He always opens a window."Maybe you've heard that, and maybe you believe in your heart it's true-or at least you always did. But when life changes unexpectedly, it can be difficult to understand what God has in mind for us. What if we wait and the window doesn't open? What then?

The door closed. I heard the echoing WHAM vibrate in my ear, felt the rush of air suck from the room as the darkness enveloped me. I held my breath. My eyes tried to adjust to this new situation. What was once familiar became eerily veiled. I couldn't get my bearings. I've often heard it said when God closes the door, He opens a window. God will open a window . . . of course He will. He always provides a way. My initial faith trust remained unwavering. I waited. Nothing happened. No rays of light entered the room. No creak of a sash being raised. No sound at all except the pounding of my pulse in my ears. The darkness still loomed. Mime-like with my hands in front of me, I groped the air, inching through the blackness to find the solid coolness of the walls which encased my situation. Thud. My fingers jammed into sheetrock. As I moved along they probed for any indentation that would suggest a jamb, a sill, a crack. Nothing. There was no way out. I whimpered, Where are you? Silence. I cried out louder. Again and again until my throat hurt. No response. I curled up on the floor and pulled my knees to my chest. I waited. What else could I do? Of course, this room is a metaphor. No one ever told me God's two acts of closing the door on one area of my life and opening a window into a new one were not simultaneous. I'd just assumed it to be true, until it happened to me. But, God indeed has a plan in every situation. It is His choice when He opens the window, or unlocks the door, or blows the roof off the rafters. It is our choice to panic or to pray. I've done both. As I sat in that so called spiritual room, also known as the transition place, I should have thought of Jonah, or Noah, or perhaps Paul in prison. Later on I did, with God's help. But, the first thought which sprang into my head were my cats. When my husband was alive, we moved seven times in ten years to seven different cities in order to find a job in his career with a stable company. Third time was not the charm, neither was the fourth, fifth or sixth. Each time we moved, we had a routine. When we heard the rumbling diesel engine of the moving van and the hiss of its brakes, we'd each grab a cat and lock them into the guest bathroom. We'd post a DO NOT ENTER-CATS INSIDE sign on the door. At first we'd hear a questioning mew? Then would come the scratching on the door. The meows became a bit more emphatic. A paw would appear under the door. Rattle, rattle. But, as soon as they heard the strange voices, the unfamiliar thud pattern of men's feet, and the sound of shrink wrap winding around our furniture, they'd honker down. After the movers left, the final vacuuming and mopping was accomplished, and the commotion died down, I'd open the door. Inevitably I would find two pair of iridescent eyes amidst whiskers peering from behind the commode. Did they dash out when they saw the door open wide knowing freedom lay beyond it? No. They'd take turns inching out from their hiding place. One would creep forward, then the other. Through some telepathic cat language the two would decide who would be the brave one to sniff the air, twitch a tail, and with the stealth of a trained soldier, step over the threshold to see if the coast was clear. Little by little they'd emerge, surveying the lay of the land, bobbing craned heads, feeling the air with their whiskers. They'd sniff corners, walls, and the indentations in the carpet where their beloved couch or favorite chair once sat. Once at the new place, the scenario repeated. Back in a bathroom. Back to listening to those thudding feet, strange men's voices, and chaos. Then quiet. Once more the door would open and magically their familiar furniture would appear half hidden amongst boxes. But the walls were different and what lay outside the window was unfamiliar. It was old and new at the same time. Soon, we'd all adjust to our new surroundings. Life once again would find order. Cat bowls and box were located, and a favorite window sill established. Within no time the cats would curl up on our laps as we watched TV, or completely take over the couch. So what had I learned from observing this cat behavior? • First, I am not in control. Someone much bigger and wiser is. • Second, I am being protected from the chaos outside that door. Whatever is being prepared on the other side, I don't want to be underfoot while it is going on. • Third, I need to trust my Master has my best interests at heart. • Fourth, whatever lies beyond, I must trust that when the door opens, it'll be different, but safe. • Fifth, I must take my time, move slowly, wait for encouragement. I will adjust and my Master will guide me. • Sixth, it might just happen again. But that's okay, too. Pets are wise. They adjust. They know being with their master is the most important thing. All else may not be permanent, but their master's love is.