Your welcome mat

Your welcome mat

I beat my fists against Your door
until they were bruised and swollen.

I threw myself at it
until I collapsed on Your welcome mat.

Sometime in the night, You carried me inside.
Coddled me a bit before tossing me back out.

If exhaustion and desperation were sure methods
I would use them at every opportunity,

but often they bring not a sound,
not a flicker of light from Your dark house.

Other times, when I least expect it,
I find myself at Your table with wine and bread;

the path to Your house strewn with petals
from a thousand discarded garlands.

Some say I hold the key to Your door.
If so, I give it back to You, Lord.

I want to stand helpless before it,
appealing only to Your mercy.

I want Love to open that door.
I want that door to open upon a child, a lover,
          a humble slave.

O child of God, your Beloved determines the rules
          of the game.
Let your opening gambit be to stand before His door
          and knock.

                            (from The Garden of Surrender, 2004)