God the King

Have you ever been in a house that had rooms that were off-limits? 

I don't know if this was just the culture of the time, but I remember this very powerfully from my childhood. 

I remember that we had to walk through my great-grandma's bedroom to get to the bathroom, but we were told not to linger and not to touch anything, and we never went into the back rooms. I remember at my grandmother's house, we were always told to stay in the front room and never go down into any of the bedrooms. I remember the concept of a "formal living room," a room that many families had and that was full of furniture, but that no one ever actually used.

I remember what it was like to go to my friend's house and to watch them just walk through the whole place like they lived there, like there was nothing off-limits. 

We didn't have any such rooms in our own house; we were a family that required all of our space. But I also remember that rooms were to be used for what they were to be used for and nothing else. It was such a big surprise - and it felt like a big treat - when my mom would spread a spare bed sheet out on the floor in front of the fireplace in the living room and invite us to a "picnic." 

Yes, really. 

I don't know if this is still a thing or not, if families still have boundaries as to which parts of their houses are open and which are closed. I don't know if every generation in every place can relate to this or if it was specific to the kinds of places that I grew up. 

I know that the concept of this that hurt me the most as a kid didn't actually take place in a house; it took place in a church. I've told this story before, but it is such a core memory for me, especially as relates to my relationship with God. But I remember when my preschool teachers took us on a tour of the Lutheran church in which we were spending our young years - a whole group of 3-year-olds. They took us to the sanctuary, the most beautiful room in the entire building, so beautiful that it didn't even look like it belonged inside the same set of bricks as the rest of it, and they made us all stand at the door. They blocked the doorway with their big, grown-up arms, shushed us down as we jockeyed to see around each other, and said, "We don't go in there. That room is holy." 

That'll form a memory. 

But then, we have this God who says He is going to prepare a place for us. And not just a place, but a house. And not just a house, but a mansion. He tells us that we will come into His presence, and we're told that our King lives in a Palace. A Temple, really, but a palace. And we saw how He put up a curtain to separate us from Him, but then He tore that thing straight in two. 

And all these memories that I have of these forbidden places come creeping back in. 

What good is Heaven if you can't actually live there? 

The good news is...you can. Heaven isn't like these places the world has roped off. Heaven isn't like these formal living rooms we never use. Heaven isn't like tiptoeing through the hallways, trying not to touch, trying not to disturb, wondering if you're supposed to be here or not. 

Song of Solomon (1:4) says the King takes us into His rooms. Not just lets us in. Not just gives us the freedom to wander. Not just doesn't block them off. No, the King takes us in there. Takes us on a tour. Shows us where everything is. Invites us inside. Lets us live in His spaces. 

Our spaces. 

That concept is so cool for a kid like me.