“Come to me, all of you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, because I am lowly and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”
Jesus, Matthew 11:28-30
It was the middle of the day, and I was in a school I’d never been to before. There was about to be an important assembly — perhaps the most important one of our lives. Students and teachers from all over the world were attending. Everyone was talking excitedly about who would appear on the stage.
I wasn’t really paying attention. I had the distinct impression that it was someone very important; but, that morning, I had rushed to get ready, barely passing a glimpse over the assembly guide. It was all the same to me. I was here. What could I possibly need to know that I wasn’t about to find out, anyway?
The lights over the stage suddenly brightened and excited chatter turned into hushed whispers. Everyone looked around eagerly.
At that moment, with a wave of frustration, I suddenly realized that I needed to use the restroom. I hadn’t had time in the morning, and now I was about to sit through an entire speech, or whatever it was.
Annoyed, I started weighing out whether or not I could wait. I decided it was best to get it over with. Whatever I missed, I could just ask someone later, right?
I quietly got up and found an exit, stepping into a long hallway.
I found the restroom easily enough. For the second time that day, I was rushing to get to the assembly. But when I stepped back out, something felt terribly wrong.
This wasn’t the same hallway.
I looked ahead and hesitantly began to walk forward, searching for any familiar door that might lead to the assembly room. I’d found the restroom quickly, so it couldn’t be that far off, right?
Feeling stupid, I smiled at anyone I passed in an effort to hide my anxiety and the fact that I was totally lost on what should have been an easy path.
My confusion only continued to grow as I realized more and more that nothing felt familiar. I cursed myself for not being more observant.
The more I walked, the more the hallway seemed to twist into an endless labyrinth. The panic started settling deep into my chest.
I turned the corner and sighed with relief–ahead was a pair of familiar double doors. I walked confidently to them and pushed through, happy my plight was over.
A shock of chaotic noise stunned me in place.
It was not a speech, but instead a collage of sounds that shouldn’t have been there. A whistle blowing. Something slamming against polished wood. Sneakers leaving tread marks. My eyes adjusted to the motion around me and I remained frozen.
I’d walked directly into the middle of a basketball game.
The players stopped moving and stared in confusion. The cheering crowd turned towards me and went silent. The referee lowered his whistle.
Heat rushed into my face as dozens of eyes pinned me in place.
The silence was deafening.
I mumbled an apology no one could hear and stumbled backwards out of the gym.
My throat tightened. Where was the assembly room?
Shoulders sinking, I now fully accepted that I was incredibly lost. Maybe someone would give me directions. I quickly tried another door nearby.
It was a classroom.
Small children were running around playing loudly. Some of them were arguing with each other while others were crying. The teacher — brows furrowed, hair frazzled — was trying to get them all back in order. They ran in circles around her, ignoring her instructions and drowning out her voice. I looked at her shyly, hoping that she might be merciful despite the chaos.
She looked up. There was no kindness or concern in her eyes. There wasn’t even surprise. Her eyes simply conveyed tired irritation; the kind of expression that makes you feel like a burden for simply existing.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly, already backing away. I was sure she didn’t hear me. My eyes were burning now. I shut the door.
The hallway felt even longer than before.
Door after door.
Wrong room after wrong room.
Every interruption earned another harsh stare, another expression that silently asked me to disappear.
It was clear that everyone was trapped in their own troubles; they didn’t have any space for mine.
Loneliness began to creep in as I fought the nagging feeling that maybe I should give up on ever making it to the assembly at all.
In my battle to remain calm, tears had begun to slip quietly down my face as I wandered.
It felt like hours had passed. Every new turn led to yet another unfamiliar hallway with doors I was too discouraged to open. Hope was sinking quickly now. It felt like I was fighting to stay above water and my arms were becoming tired with the realization that I had no chance of making it back to shore.
The thought I had been fighting until now finally settled deep into my heart: I’m never getting out of here.
Tears flowing freely now, I turned aimlessly and looked up to see a stairwell ahead. I hadn’t gone up any stairs, but at this point, I was just walking anywhere that would accept me.
Eyes on the stairs with sadness blurring my vision, I began to descend, my hope sinking more with every tired step.
No one was coming. There was no rescue. Everyone else was at the assembly, and I was lost forever.
Then, in the silence, I suddenly heard a voice. It was gentle; close.
“Why are you crying?”
I looked up, heart racing, and scanned the figure standing before me.
It was a man. He was standing near the bottom of the stairs holding a mop in one hand. His plain uniform was faded from years of wear. Over his heart was a small embroidered name patch:
JANITOR
His eyes were fixed on me with such unfamiliar tenderness that it almost hurt to look at him.
“I’m lost,” I finally choked out. “I can’t find my way back.”
The sound of my forgotten voice shattered something within me. “No one wants me here. I think I missed the assembly. I want to give up. There’s no point to anything anymore.”
Another sob escaped my throat and I lowered my face in shame.
The Janitor’s expression softened. Then he set the mop aside and walked a few steps closer.
He held out his hand.
“You don’t have to stay lost,” he said softly.
I stared. Earlier, I would have accepted it immediately.
But now? Now I didn’t trust that kindness was real. I quietly stood in the realization of how far my hope had diminished.
A moment passed and he said nothing. Then, slowly, he lowered his hand. Not offended — just disappointed.
“There’s an exit door just down this hallway,” he offered. “The assembly is still going. I can walk you there if you’d like. I have plenty of time.”
“I’ll find it. Thanks,” I said numbly. There was an instant feeling of regret over my quick response, but I had barely believed his words; so I began to walk, preparing once more to be alone.
After only a few slow steps, a wave of fear washed over me.
What if he was my only chance of getting to the assembly?
I stopped.
Then, slowly, I turned back to face him.
“Actually… do you think you could come with me?”
He smiled.
It wasn’t the smile of someone who had won an argument. It was the smile of someone who rejoiced over being needed.
Suddenly — incredibly — the bond of hopelessness inside of me started to loosen its grip.
The rejection. The fear. The bottomless ache of feeling unwanted.
It all started falling away.
Warmth returned to my chest and I felt something I hadn’t realized I’d lost: faith.
He walked towards me and offered his hand once more.
This time, I took it.
He led me down the hallway to a door I hadn’t noticed. The archway was bathed in brilliant light, as if the sun was trying to break the barrier.
As he opened it, the brightness poured over us and darkness fell away as if it had never existed.
He smiled down at me once more.
“This is the way,” he said.
I looked up at him without shame this time, and I could suddenly see myself through his eyes. It was then I understood the truth.
I wasn’t a burden.
I had simply been lost.
A smile broke out onto my face as I took my first real step.
Finally…
I knew where I belonged.
THE END
This story is based on a dream I had.
My spiritual life was feeling dry. I had been questioning if I was walking the right path. I felt like no one truly cared about me.
Although it was a dream, it felt incredibly real. The moment I took His hand, I felt a tangible warmth come over me; that feeling startled me awake.
By the dream’s end, as I was walking through the doorway, it felt as though the rays of light were replacing all of my doubt, fear, and the sense of giving up that had taken hold me in real life.
That day, for the first time in a week, I finally got out of bed and cleaned my house.
I sang songs. I prayed. And I knew that He had given me the spiritual embrace I so needed.
I reflect often that our God, the Highest of all, the Mightiest, the most Holy, who could literally be anyone of any rank became a human who was born in a dirty stable, raised in an insignificant tiny town, and then lived in the most humble conditions all of his life — speaks volumes to me.
How fitting for him to choose the Janitor of all the positions he could have portrayed.
I understood the assembly to represent God the Father trying to call upon our undivided attention;
Jesus was the ‘Janitor’ leading me back to Him after I’d gotten lost;
and the rays of light coming through the doorway represented the Holy Spirit flooding into my soul once I finally took his hand.
The dream gave me a glimpse of what can happen, and what it feels like, when we don’t give enough of our time to God and the consequences we then might face for missing out on his message.
Jesus spoke about how we should expect to be rejected for following Him.
Every door I opened in the dream resulted in rejection, until I realized the only way to God was through Jesus himself.
By accepting that truth, I was able to see the person he wanted me to be, and it suddenly didn’t matter how many times I’d been rejected.
I knew I was finally home with Him.