Since I was young I have always loved keys. I loved that a key had to fit a lock and a lock had to fit a key. I have key ornaments, old little keys, new big keys, a key charm on my bracelet and a key notebook. The Indian in the cupboard was magic alive not because the toy comes to life but because the key fit the cupboard.
If you are a girl (or a very feminine boy), you may have had one of those diaries that had a lock and came with two keys. This was prize possession of mine.
My mother bought me one as a reward for studying hard for a really big spelling test. She had never persuaded me with gifts before (though my allowance came in the form of Dino sours instead of cash, which in my opinion explains a lot for me) when it came to studying. She was determined to get me to memorize the whole list and if I had learned them perfectly before the test, she would buy me the diary.
The diary came from Wilson's stationary, my favorite store as a kid. I loved looking at the fresh note pads, all the pens, labels and especially the stamps. I'm not sure what it is about office supplies but it seemed exhilarating to me. Don't get me started on till tape calculators with the big pushable buttons. Anyways, I got the diary for studying (though I still remember the grade two test didn't go perfectly as I had misspelled one of the words I had never got wrong studying) but was extremely disappointed the day I found out that...the keys, in their miniature glory, could in fact...open any of those diaries.
Why have a lock and key if the keys can fit any other similar diary out there? My secrets were not safe and I was also disappointed when I found out if you reefed hard enough on the lock it would just pop open...
My intent on posting about keys was never about the diary but I just remembered the pain so I thought I would share.
As I was locking the house behind me today, I felt something I had never felt before.
My key chain was light.
I counted the keys. One, two, three, four. Earlier that morning I gave back two of my keys as I am now done at my other job. four? that's it? I flipped through the ring. Car key, house key, gaggys key (my grandmother) and most pathetically a key to my steering wheel lock I never use.
In Bible College I remember a professor sharing that it is usually the case that if a person has a lot of keys, they also hold a lot of responsibility. I was quite proud then and my key ring was booming with more than a dozen little puzzle pieces looped securely onto solid coiled metal. Church keys, work keys, many peoples house keys, keys to mails boxes and gates. My starter on my car was not safe as I was once scolded.
People when they saw my stash of keys would comment "whoa! you have a lot of keys" or "what are all those for?" Me? I would say casually, "oh just some house keys and work keys. Some of these I don't even know what they are for anymore". Now? pff, measly. It's like my key chain has scurvy.
I wondered this morning if it were true. Do I have less responsibility? Is there a key to importance ratio? (assuming responsibility equals importance). No, I do not work at a Church anymore. I don't live in a city where I know as many people to just freely walk into their houses. I don't have a key for work (though I am working) and no gate is waiting for me to be it's opener.
Maybe in the eyes of fellow peers I don't have much status, especially in any Church community or organization anymore (though none have commented or am I insinuating I am looked down upon in any way). I'm not climbing any corporate ladder or gaining social status but responsibility I do have. I am responsible for myself. For the things I say and do and how I portray Christ. That, is a huge responsibility I have willingly taken on. So I have concluded that great responsibility starts with myself and that I want to be faithful with what I already have.
..and that makes me a keeper in at the least the eyes of Jesus and hopefully yours too.
Love,
Meaghan
xoxo
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