On the wrong side of the door

For a year now, I've been acknowledging that I'm stuck in my career life. My family knows this, my friends know it, my Bible study class knows it, I know it. I've described this in numerous ways to numerous folks, but basically the imagery is this: camping out on the edge of a deep gorge, I've used up all sustenance on this side of the gap and for lack of food, fuel, and shelter, I've got to get over to the other side of the gorge somehow. For a year now, I've been sitting on this side of the gorge pondering this, and wishing for a helicopter to sweep by and pick me up and carry me across. Now I'm resigning myself to the fact that the helicopter doesn't seem to be coming.
So, what next? I look tentatively over the edge of the gorge and see not a foothold. I look back over the bleak landscape on this side of the gorge, and see the dusty, farmed-out land surrounding me. Looks like I'll have to crawl down somehow and climb up the other side.

Lately it feels as if I am outside a door that I need to go through, but it just won't open. Needing to pass through, but having to wait. Wanting to pass through, but not quite sure how to make it happen. Not knowing what is on the other side, but totally up to here with the unsustainability of the situation on this side of the door.

It ocurred to me, that this is what it must be like to be near the end of a terminal illness. Waiting for a passage through a door that just won't open yet. Ready to let go, just waiting for the door....