The Locked Door
The girl with a spade
is digging holes in the floor
of her room; she stands knee-deep
where loamy earth once lay,
turning out shovels-full of soil.
The clods hit the ground
in relentless thuds,
like the knocking fist at the door.
She has locked it.
She scoops and dumps, again
and again. When the crater grows
just big enough to cradle her,
she kneels down into the loneliness,
almost folds herself in two,
wondering (as she hides)
whether the caller beating at the door
will leave if she ignores Him.
But the pounding grows stronger.
She climbs to the brink and out,
cheeks smeared by sweaty palms
with the grime of despair,
leaving a tear or two on the hard-
packed soil at her feet.
She begins anew: hoist shovel,
heave weary shoulders,
find an unblemished corner.
Soon she’s dug herself knee-deep
in a spotless new pit. Blistered palms
ache as she stands and surveys
the level of her pitted landscape.
Ears straining for the drumming
on the door beyond the rasp
of shovel or breath, bent double
under her doubts, she realizes—
that if she only opened the door…
“ ‘Here I am! I stand at the door and knock.
If anyone hears my voice and opens the door,
I will come in and eat with him,
and he with me.’ ”
Revelation 3:20 (NIV)
Do you hear the pounding?
The pounding of the His friends' hearts as the soldiers invaded the garden to seize Him?
The pounding of their frightened feet as they fled?
The pounding of the lash meeting His back?
The pounding of the nails being driven into His hands and feet?
The pounding of His heart as He bore the sins of the world on His perfect shoulders -
and offered Himself in your place?
Is He pounding on your heart?
Open the door.