Deacon Jude Tam Tran

THE DOORMAN

“Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.” — (Proverbs 4:23)
“I am the gate; whoever enters through me will be saved.” — (John 10:9)

I – an ant with a big head — don’t look like much at first glance—just a head, really. A very large head. Some might even say I’m all head and no neck. But don’t be fooled. Around here, this head is the front door.

My name doesn’t matter. In my colony, titles matter more than names, and mine is simple: Doorman. Gatekeeper. Living lock. I sit at the entrance of our nest, day after day, hour after hour, my head perfectly fitted into the doorway like a cork in a bottle. If you’re family, I let you in. If you’re not… well, let’s just say this is one club with a very strict guest list.

You humans think you invented security. You put men in suits in front of glass towers, install keycards, cameras, retinal scans, and passwords you forget five minutes after creating them. But long before you built skyscrapers, we ants perfected the art of guarding what matters.

I don’t carry a weapon. I am the weapon. The strongest part of my body—this magnificent, oversized head—is also the door itself. When I settle in, nothing gets past me unless I allow it.

Termites try to sneak in? Denied. Rival ants pretending to be friendly? Nice try. Lost beetle looking for a shortcut? Absolutely not.

And camouflage—oh, don’t get me started. My head looks exactly like the bark of the tree around us. Same color. Same texture. Same design. Predators glance at me and think, Just another piece of wood. That’s intentional. The best protection often doesn’t shout; it blends in.

But here’s the part humans find funniest: I use a password system. Nestmates smell right.

They carry the right chemical signature. When one approaches, I know immediately. No badge needed. No explanation required. Belonging has a scent. If you don’t have it, the door stays closed.

Now, I hear some of you laughing. “An ant with a job? An ant with authority?” Yes, laugh if you want—but I take this role personally. Because behind me is everything that matters: the queen, the young, the food, the future. I’m not guarding dirt. I’m guarding life.

And that’s where my story becomes yours.

You see, humans also have entrances—places where the outer world meets the inner life. Your homes have doors, yes, but your hearts do too. Your minds do. Your souls most certainly do.

And yet, many of you leave them wide open, unlocked, unguarded, wondering later how trouble wandered in and made itself comfortable.

The Bible puts it this way:

“Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.”(Proverbs 4:23)

Above all else. Not second. Not when convenient. Above all else. That verse sounds like it was written by someone who understands my job.

I sit for hours, unmoving, patient. Not every knock deserves an answer. Not every passerby deserves access. Some bring danger disguised as curiosity. Others bring destruction wrapped in charm. If I let the wrong one in even once, the whole colony pays the price.

Humans struggle with this. You let words in that poison your peace. You let habits in that slowly eat away at your strength. You let relationships in that don’t belong—and then you’re surprised when your inner world feels invaded.

Let me tell you something from a creature with a very small brain and a very big responsibility: boundaries are not unloving; they are protective.

Even Jesus understood this. He said,

“I am the gate; whoever enters through me will be saved.” (John 10:9)

Notice He didn’t say He was the wide-open field where anything wanders in. He said He was the gate. Gates imply decisions. Discernment. Direction. Something—and someone—worth protecting.

I don’t hate the ants I turn away. It’s not personal. It’s purposeful. My loyalty is clear. I know who I belong to, and I act accordingly.

Humans, on the other hand, often want to please everyone. You hold the door open for stress, bitterness, envy, and fear, then wonder why your inner nest feels crowded and chaotic. You confuse kindness with access. You forget that even love needs wisdom.

Here’s another thing: I don’t move around much. I don’t chase excitement. My calling requires stillness. Faithfulness. Showing up to the same small opening day after day, trusting that my role—though unseen by most—matters deeply.

Some of you think your lives are insignificant because your work feels repetitive or unnoticed.

Let me assure you: guarding what matters is never a small task. The health of an entire colony rests on my quiet vigilance. No applause. No promotions. Just responsibility.

So, here’s my wisdom for you, from one doorman to another:
Be careful what you allow through your doors—your eyes, your ears, your thoughts, your heart.

Not everything knocking deserves entry. Learn the “scent” of truth. Learn the “password” of wisdom. Surround what is precious with discernment, patience, and courage.

And if an ant with a head shaped like a door can understand that, surely humans—with hearts capable of love, faith, and purpose—can too.

Now if you’ll excuse me, someone’s approaching. I recognize the scent. Family.

Door opens. Door closes.
All is well.