Knock, Knock, Knockin' on Heaven's Door

Some people say that when God closes a door, He opens a window. Now an atheist will tell you there is no God which would mean that if a door shuts, don't look at God. And for God sakes don't look at God to open any windows. 

So if there is no God, who does close our metaphorical doors and open our metaphorical windows? Beats me, but if I had to guess, I'd say it's one of those pesky gnats dive-bombing the human psyche - the gnats known as free will and fate. I'm not here to weigh in on either one other than to say I doubt both can exist - at least not simultaneously - and I have no idea which one does.

Anyway, one night I was out on a date with a man who was an atheist to his core. The very idea of God or religion filled him not just with disdain but with disgust. Even though we didn't see entirely eye to eye, he was such a bright man that I was enjoying his company just the same. 

He was tall, handsome, urbane and flawlessly articulate. He was as perfectly polished as the President's shoes except for the colorful discourse pouring from him on the topics of God and religion. Despite the fact that he was beginning to surmise I was too much of  a "believer," we were very much enjoying our talk. 

He turned to me where we were seated at the bar of a pricey little watering hole, pulled out his cell phone and asked if I'd like to see pictures of the renovations he was performing on his house. As he swiped through the photos, he explained the details as he went, finally stopping at a picture of beautiful mahogany-stained doors lying atop sawhorses.

     
"I'm installing these doors throughout the house," he said. As soon as I saw the picture, an evil troll banged a gong in my head.

    
"Did you know those are 'Christian doors?'" I asked, an innocent expression faked upon my face.

"I don't know what you mean," he said, gravely. Now, he was 6'2" and I'm 5'4", so one could say he really was looking down on me. 

"The doors you're installing; they're 'Christian doors,'" I repeated.

"No they are not," he replied emphatically.

"Oh, but they are," I chirped.

"No," he informed me as though addressing a well-meaning moron, "the correct term is 'six-panel doors.'"

"That may very well be, but they're also referred to as 'Christian doors,'" I explained. I honestly did like him and don't know why I wasn't behaving better. 

     
"Here, I'll show you," I offered. At this point I whipped out my own phone and Googled Christian doors.

     
"See? Look here," I invited. "Christian doors date back to the 1700s and are also known as 'frame and panel' or 'cross and bible doors.'"

     
I didn't even know they were called cross and bible doors until I read it to him and was practically giddy over it as I did. I could see him physically pull back and his posture grow stiff so I stuck my nose back into my phone - but continued:

"Okay, look. It says here that the configuration of the four panels on the bottom of the door creates the illusion of a cross. See? It's right there. It's so obvious when you know what you're looking for. And then, the two panels at the top represent an open bible, but actually, they make another cross too, don't they? Imagine that - two crosses on one door."

     
I looked up at him with the expression of an angel, which wasn't easy as it doesn't come naturally.   

"Well?" I asked, "Isn't that interesting?"

There was a long pause before he dryly remarked, "I am not going to let you ruin them for me."

     
And did I mention that his name was Christopher? It was, and may I be struck dead if I'm lying. 

Hand to God.