Behind Marcus's Bedroom Door

When Marcus first arrived at the Hendersons' foster home in Cleveland, he locked his bedroom door and wouldn't come out. Nine years old, three placements in two years, and every adult who had promised safety had eventually disappeared.

Linda Henderson didn't force the door. Every evening she sat in the hallway and spoke through it. "You're safe here, Marcus. I'm not going anywhere." She slid a plate of dinner under the gap. For eleven days, that door stayed locked.

On the twelfth night, the knob turned. Marcus stood there, eyes searching her face for any sign of the lie he expected. Linda didn't rush toward him. She simply held up her open hands and said, "Peace, sweetheart. Just peace."

Three months later, the Hendersons took in another boy, DeShawn, age seven. Marcus told him everything about Linda, about the meals under the door, about the night the lock finally turned. DeShawn shook his head. "I won't believe it till I see it myself."

It took DeShawn his own seventeen days. His own locked door. His own moment of turning the handle to find Linda sitting right there in the hallway, open hands, steady voice.

In John 20, the risen Christ did not wait for the disciples to find their courage. He walked through their locked doors and spoke peace into their terror. And when Thomas needed his own encounter, Jesus came back, patient and unhurried, wounds extended, because the God who conquers death is never too proud to meet one more doubter exactly where they are.