For two mornings now, just before my eyes open to the light of day, I’ve heard it.
Knocking.
Not loud or urgent, but distinct—enough to startle me out of sleep. At first, I brushed it off, thinking it was a lingering sound from a dream, or maybe something outside. But when it happened again the next morning, something stirred in my spirit. A question. A sense of something more.
Could this be the Lord?
Scripture often meets us right where we are, and in those early, quiet moments before the world fully wakes, I was reminded of two powerful truths:
“Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and dine with him, and he with Me.”
— Revelation 3:20
And:
“Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you.
For everyone who asks receives, and he who seeks finds, and to him who knocks it will be opened.”
— Matthew 7:7-8
Maybe you’ve experienced it too—those in-between moments where something sacred brushes up against the ordinary. Where your heart stirs before your feet hit the floor. Where it feels like God is gently tapping on the door of your spirit, waiting for you to notice.
That’s what it felt like for me. Like a holy invitation.
To pause. To listen. To open.
What if those early morning knocks weren’t random? What if they were divine nudges? An invitation to communion before the chaos of the day takes over. A reminder that He is near. He desires to dwell with us, not just in church pews or quiet times, but in the in-between places—in dreams, in awakenings, in whispered moments when the soul is most open.
Revelation 3:20 is often preached as a salvation message, but it’s more than that. It’s a daily invitation. Jesus is not a once-and-done Savior. He is a daily-knocking, ever-pursuing, relational Redeemer who wants to be welcomed into the rhythm of our lives.
And Matthew 7:7-8, It’s not just a call for us to knock—it’s a promise that He responds when we do. That seeking is not in vain. That knocking is never ignored. That asking opens the door to something deeper.
But it goes deeper than that.
Lately, I’ve sensed that this knocking isn’t just about communion—it’s about commissioning. The Lord is calling me into a season of self-reflection and development. He’s asking me to go deeper than surface-level faith, to look inward with Him, to heal, to grow, and to discover the full measure of who He created me to be.
This isn’t just about spiritual intimacy. It’s about stepping into purpose.
He’s been whispering, “It’s time to figure out the dominion I’ve given you. It’s time to identify where you are meant to reign—not in pride, but in stewardship. Not to control, but to cultivate.”
There’s territory with my name on it—assignments He’s marked out, gifts He’s entrusted to me, battles I’m meant to win not just for myself, but for those coming behind me.
So maybe—He was knocking.
Maybe He’s knocking for you, too.
Maybe He's saying:
"I’m here. Open the door. Let’s talk before the day begins. Let Me remind you who you are and what I have for you. Let Me walk you into clarity about your calling. Don’t rush past this moment. I’m not just in the storm or the mountaintop. I’m in the stillness. I’m in the knock."
So what do we do?
We open the door.
We meet Him there.
We listen, and we lean in.
Because when heaven knocks, it’s never to take something from us—it’s to give us more of Him.
And through Him, more of us—the truest version He designed, equipped, and anointed for such a time as this.
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