Mel's Healing Pilgrimage 2016

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Wednesday, January 29, 2025

The Key to the Door that No Longer Exists

I hold a key in my hand. It is worn, familiar, shaped by years of turning in a lock to a big wooden door that we picked ourselves.

A door that no longer exists. 


This was the key to our home — one of thousands of homes that burned down in the Altadena fire. A home that held love, laughter, the quiet and serenity that comes with the predictable rhythm of daily life. A home that welcomed neighbors, gathered family, bore witness to my faith journey.

Now, it is a key without a door.

There is something sacred about a home. Not just the walls and the roof, but the space it holds for calm, for safety, for memories. This key once opened more than just a door; for 17 years, it opened a deeply personal world. A world where meals were shared, where many joined in prayer, where friends knew they were welcome.

Gone now. Reduced to ashes and twisted metal. And yet, something remains.

A house can burn down, but love does not. Walls can fall, but the stories continue on. The loss is real, the grief is heavy, but even in the ashes, I find myself searching for embers of hope.

In many ways, this key reminds me of my journey on the Camino de Santiago. I have walked that sacred path six times and Stephen did twice, carrying only what I needed, letting go of what I did not. On the Camino, you learn quickly that everything is temporary — your aching feet, the changing landscapes, the people who walk beside you for a time and then move on.

And yet, you also learn that God is present in every step. That what you carry is less important than what carries you. That the journey itself — more than the destination — is what transforms. 

Now, we find ourselves on another kind of Camino. Not one of our choosing, but one we must walk nonetheless. The road of pain, of loss, of rebuilding, of making a house a home again. We will take this journey of healing and restoration. We know that the path may be wet with tears, AND we will also bask in the warmth and joy that come from relationships with our family, with friends, with our church, with ourselves. 

This key once turned, once clicked, once opened
The sound of welcome, the weight of home.
Now it rests in my hand, cold and still,
A ghost of a threshold, a memory of stone.

But love is not locked, nor bound, nor lost,
It lingers in laughter, in voices that call.
A door may be gone, but the home it held
Still rises like dawn, unbroken, tall.

So what now? Where does one go when the door no longer stands?

I go to the table, where bread is broken and hands are held. I go to my community, where grace is lived out in kindness and generosity. I go to my faith, which tells me that even in loss, God is near.

Maybe this key is no longer meant to open a door. Maybe it is meant to remind me that home is never just a place—it is the people we love, the stories we tell, the faith we carry forward.

And maybe, just maybe, this key—this small, weighty thing—still unlocks something. Not a house, but a deeper truth:

That love endures. That hope rises. That we are never truly without home, as long as we journey together. This is the key to the door that no longer exists.  

7 comments :

  1. Beautiful. Thank you so much.
    It reminds me of the hundreds of thousands of Palestinians from '48 who still carry the big metal keys to the doors they thought they would return to, and the present day Gazans who do the same. And you are so right-- the key represents so much more than brick and mortar, but the love and community that resided within the walls. God bless you on this camino, this journey of loss and love and hope.

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  2. You shared your felling beautifully. Your post was honest, poetic, and meaningful for everyone who read it. I have been praying to for you, Steve and your neighbors. I know,
    With God’s help, you will accomplish your new goal. Love, Deacon Bonnie

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  3. Oh, Mel! It's so true, all if what you said here, and beautifully so.

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  4. Oh, Mel! It's so true, what you've written so beautifully. Thank you for sharing your heart here.

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  5. thank you for letting your light shine in the midst of these tribulations. like Esther, it seems that God has raised you up for such a time as this. “for where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” i really can’t try to say more than what you have already said so beautifully here. may God continue to strengthen you and give you courage.

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  6. thank you for letting your light shine through in the midst of these “fiery trials.” your words offer strength and encouragement for us all. like Esther, it seems that God has raised you up for such a time as this. “for where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” i really ought not try to add to what you have already expressed here so beautifully. may God continue to give you His strength and courage for the journey. — Kim Virginia

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  7. Wonder if the lock mechanism survived. If so, may still work on your new door. Talk about continuity✝️🙏🏼🌈

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