I heard the knock the first time
Then the millionth time but I’m not about
To open. Last I checked, it was standing there
Looking really ugly and I can’t stand it.
I’m waiting for better not hideous,
I am hoping for higher, greater,
Not this consistently inconsistent uncertainty
Called change or whatever: no way!
No room for you here sir, try another door.
Then it ran out of patience and landed: bulldozers,
About to break the door I wouldn’t open.
Lack of choice turned the key I used to open
The door I had used against change for so long.
No alternative denied me the crutch I used
To evade essential changes. The bulldozer
That scared me out of routine was the key
To the miracle I sought and couldn’t find
Because I didn’t recognize it, I rejected
The change that came bearing my hope.

I had an experience that established in my heart that when things appear to fall apart, they could be falling in place. I was involved in a group that I liked and enjoyed and as often as opportunities for change presented itself to try another, I out rightly rejected it for obvious reasons. I was generous to consider observations and reports that confirmed the opportunity was not the way to go so it was sealed: I would not be moved. Then changes became the order of the day and I didn’t have a choice but to go with the flow.

My favorite spot was no longer the same and life had become a daily struggle, yet I was unwilling to change the status. I must confess that I am not very amenable to change especially when it is not in the direction I  like or meet the appearance of my hope. I like my old ways and I tend not to open when change knocks on the door of familiar, particularly when it is dressed in unappealing garbs. I choose instead to adjust and adapt and continue to manage the usual than to give unattractive change a chance. Hmmm, when do we learn that great changes often don’t show up looking good enough?

Well, this time, my choices were starved. This time, the change did not appear with a pleasant smile on its ugly face. It was neither offering me choices nor time to consider. It didn’t arrive to nicely show me its warrant of arrest. Instead it landed with bulldozers, humming, daring, revving to go. With no choices to pick from and no time to buy, I had to think on my feet while the engine of bulldozing change continuously reminded me that it had lost patience with me. I had to do something with this inescapable change.

Unfortunately in my thought, because the flow was in the direction I didn’t want to consider, I was at the verge of taking a critical decision but for wise counsel. I couldn’t ignore this change: the bulldozer was ever before my eyes. I couldn’t evade it: the hum stuck to my ears. And I couldn’t leave it alone: it outdid my thought and assumed reality that followed everywhere I went. It seemed easier to bail but wise counsel cautioned to rethink that so despite the humming threat of time running out at the background, I withdrew to consider what I had no choice but to consider now.

I mourned the loss of what I loved and lived and thrived in though it died on me, as I prepared for the anticipated havoc this change was about to wreck in my delicate world. I rearranged my heart and my thoughts in line with the little I knew about the change. Rather than being pressured by the daring dozer, I readied first my mind, then my arms, to welcome the change I couldn’t shun. Then I opened the door to let what will be become. As I stepped out, the threatening sight and sound of the dozer metamorphosed into something quieter, warmer, friendlier than the status I just quit. I won’t be deceived: appearances can be deceptive: I was too certain of the dozer I had seen and heard just a while back to swallow this gracious ambience. I was already out anyway: I couldn’t go back so I pressed on with caution.

I pressed on with resolve, to go it one day at a time, check one week, then a month, until I am done. I pressed on with resolve to do my best, to make the most of this change that defeated me. First day went uneventful but warm. Second day gently compelled me out of the cocoon I determined to live in if this change turned weirder than I could handle. Third was good and it dawned: this change was good for me, this change was being kind on me, this change was not fooling me at all. I adjusted my resolve: I relaxed. Seven days later, I was on my knees, brimming with thanks to the Author of that Change and for the bulldozer that denied me the choice and the chance to maintain a suffocating status quo because I couldn’t see or feel any better.

As I write this, I stand amazed at how much we miss because we resist change. How much I must have missed down the years because I didn’t want to give that change a chance. How much we lose because we are so adamant to remain with the familiar; we are too shortsighted to see farther, too close minded to know better, and have other choices that enable us to shun changes we should embrace. I hope this will be my last fight with change. I hope when change knocks again, I will be willing to open, ready to move. I hope because I know me: I’ve known me long enough to know that it takes a while for things to sink no matter how great they are. I want to fight change no more. Instead, I want to look into the eyes of change with faith and hear hope in its hum. I don’t want to wait until it turns bulldozers. I want to open my heart, extend my arms, and embrace change whenever it stops by my door.

Glory!