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Topic: Lock (04/16/26)
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TITLE: And Throw Away the Key | Previous Challenge Entry
By Joanna Dietz
04/23/26 -
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It was Sunday morning.
“Oh, Lord,” I sighed, shutting my eyes again. “I thank You for another day. But Lord, it’s Sunday. In a couple of hours, I’m gonna be with people, and, Lord, I’m nervous. It seems every time I’m around people I’m having to apologize for something or other. My mind is so good at thinking up little darts that I want to shoot at people. And sometimes I do shoot. And then I have to apologize, and I so hate apologizing. It so . . . humiliating.”
I paused, thinking. I truly hated apologizing, and my sensitive conscience had recently been calling for more apologies than my proud mind could bare. I was desperate.
Then an idea flashed across my mind. I bolted upright in bed.
“That’s it,” I cried. “I just won’t open my mouth. Nothin’ to nobody. No words, no mistakes, no apologies.”
I sprang out of bed, energized, relieved, and feeling usually optimistic about this Sunday.
At 9:20 am, my Honda Civic and I rolled into the parking lot of the small chapel I had attended for the past decade. I entered the small foyer and easily made my way to my seat three rows from the front. It had been fairly easy to make it this far without saying anything. A bright smile and a head nod naturally took the place of a “Good morning.” I focused on the Bible in my lap until the service began.
But that’s when things started to go sideways.
Like most church services, this one involved singing. A lot of singing. Complying with my vow instantly became awkward as I simply stared down at the words in the hymnbook while those around me belted out “How Great Thou Art.”
“Oh, well,” I thought to myself. “I guess I can worship silently just as well as out loud.”
This artificial justification eased my conscience until part of Psalm 100 surfaced in my memory.
“Shout joyfully to the Lord . . . Come before Him with joyful singing.”
“At least I won’t make a mess of things,” I continued to rationalize. “That’s got to count for something.”
But things went from bad to worse during the fellowship time following the service.
“Amy, how are you today?” Mrs. Campbell asked me.” I beamed my biggest smile at her and made some sort of hand gesture. Her raised eyebrow was almost more than I could bear. I quickly moved along. But one curious look after another sent me fleeing for refuge in the last stall of the women’s restroom. Soon I was alone, but it wasn’t until I could hear the opening hymn of the second service that I allowed myself to venture from my hiding place. Opening the stall door, I froze.
I was not alone!
There, slumped against the wall of the bathroom was a blonde teenager. I recognized her instantly. Her name was Clara, and she attended the youth group I helped out with on Wednesday nights. We had grown close over the last couple of months, and seeing her there, shoulders silently shaking and bitter tears rolling off her cheeks, my heart practically leapt out of my chest. I knelt down next to her. She started.
“Miss Amy!” she exclaimed, frantically wiping away the tears. “I didn’t know you were here.”
I returned a sad smile, trying to channel all my concern through my eyeballs.
“I . . . I’m really hurting right now. I don’t know what to do”
I just nodded.
I just smiled.
“Oh, Miss Amy, can you tell me what to do?”
I leaned over and gave her a big hug. Then sitting back on my heels, I just sat there, silent.
“Thanks the hug, Miss Amy,” Clara said, standing up. “But I’m gonna need more than that.” The girl turned, and in a moment, I was alone in the bathroom.
Now the tears ran down my cheeks. I sat against the cold tile wall, crestfallen.
“Oh, God. I was wrong—so wrong. I wasn’t concerned about pleasing You—I see now I was concerned only about myself. You gave me a tongue for a reason. Help me to use it for You, even if it means I’ll mess up and have to ask forgiveness.”
Drying my eyes, I rose and made my way to the bathroom door. Stepping into the hall, I opened my mouth.
“Clara?”
Quote from Psalm 100, NASB 1995
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