To My Father's House

i'm coming to my Father's house.

i have the key,

now, where is it?

check my pockets?

i can be so irresponsible sometimes.

hmm, i know i have it...?

leafing through my Bible,

my prayer books

my papers.

then i'm thinking;

i suppose i could knock?

i could shout, he'd hear me?

kick the door down?

i'm not sure that would be good?

check under the mat

and behind the flowerpot?

this is getting frustrating!

wait a minute,

Oh!

yes there it was all the time,

around my neck

close to my heart.

the one given me by my older brother.

i slip the braided leather cord

over my head,

looking closely

at the large nails

formed into a crude key

with a carved wooden handle

i slip it into the key hole

it fits perfectly.

turning to the right

i hear the clunk

of the mechanism.

i step into the well lit foyer

and remove my coat and baggage,

my shoes and hat.

crossing the floor

i reach the french doors

and slide them gently.

there is soft music,

i recognize the song

and join in.

closing my eyes i stop for a moment

meditating upon the words.

the carpeted floor is warm and soft.

i cross it to another set of doors.

these doors have beautiful stained glass.

i speak the words i see etched

on the glass and smile.

i knock softly before entering.

the room is swelling with more music,

love songs.

in the background i hear

my sibling's voices

and the reassuring voice

of our Father.

"Hello Daddy."

"Hello son," he says,

"Tell me about your day." He inquires.

i run into His outstretched arms. (L)