There are parts of us that we keep secret even from friends. Like those cursed in a fairy story, we fear to open some doors. In a quiet moment, what hides in locked rooms creeps out and roams the house. Is it regret or shame or sin? For haunted people it is hard for us to tell.
By any measure it is hard to beat the joy of being known and loved. A day comes and we let someone into the recesses of the self. One who is no stranger to trouble wins our trust. In fear, we hand our broken parts over to their care. In amazement we do not vanish. The power of grace becomes real. Whoever knew that we could be so alive? In labor, the woman struggles to hang on. With new life come the tears of joy.
God comes knocking. He doesn't plan to stay. In the words of an old prayer, God says "I like what I see."
God, please keep knocking.
By any measure it is hard to beat the joy of being known and loved. A day comes and we let someone into the recesses of the self. One who is no stranger to trouble wins our trust. In fear, we hand our broken parts over to their care. In amazement we do not vanish. The power of grace becomes real. Whoever knew that we could be so alive? In labor, the woman struggles to hang on. With new life come the tears of joy.
God comes knocking. He doesn't plan to stay. In the words of an old prayer, God says "I like what I see."
God, please keep knocking.
Jeanne Schuler
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