A reflection on gates.
By Opal Hoover Young
Sagging and weatherworn, the lonely gate stood as sole evidence of the old homestead that had burned to the ground decades ago.
I moved it gently on its hinges--almost reverently, for it marked the place where I was born. The gate seemed redolent with memories of hands: warm, grimy hands pulsating with youth swinging I to and fro; reluctant lovers' hands releasing the latch as goodbyes were said, hands that opened and shut the gate for some who, their own hands stilled, went through it on the last long journey.
Gates open and close on many experiences of life: opportunity, service, achievement, pleasure, friendship, and love. The multitudes of earth pass through these gates daily, seeking fulfillment.
But there is a gate of which the world knows little, a straight gate opening onto a narrow way, and few there be who find it. That gate opens to eternal life, the fulfillment of all the hopes of mankind, the answers to all searchings and questionings.
That gate marks the way to our Father's house, where He waits within gates of pearl to welcome His children home.