A knock at the door:
"Excuse me, good sir, have you room for two more?"
Already he'd turned a good men's share away,
But a gaze at their faces sparked, "I've one place to stay!"
In the scurry that spic'd and span'd all the fine rooms
No time had been left for visitation of brooms
To the old dusty stable tucked back where none could see
Filled with hob nobs and knick knacks; things without place to be
A mishmash of not-wants, and things to be tossed
A chaos of things that long past were lost.
A place that years since had felt cloth or seen soap
Suddenly became the
Birthplace of Hope.
For the King of the heavens need not wait to come in
'Til we've revved up the Hoover nor reached cleanest-e'er-has-been.
Our hearts' homes we cannot clean spotless from sin
Best throw open the door and let Jesus come in.
The first home He chose was the basest of places,
And day after day He retraces His paces:
Approaching each heart, again and again,
A new knock is heard:
"Is there room at the inn?"
Open the door, no matter what's hidden inside.
Merry Christmas to all.
js
Photo from reggiewins.blogspot.com
No comments:
Post a Comment