There He stands
At the door of my heart
And knocks,
And waits.

He who gave all life its start,
Created land and ocean
He who made this very heart
Is waiting for my permission!

Why doesn’t He break down the door or make Himself a key?
He who created the planets and space,
Why does He wait for me?
And why take second place?

The answer comes with nightfall,
A sonorous whisper in the breeze.
When He made me with free will
He handed me the keys.

Free as we are we go off course
And refuse His guiding hand.
He let Himself be tortured and killed
And still we just don’t understand,

Our applause or empty praise is not what He desires
But our love, our trust, our hope.
Still He knocks and never tires
Until we open up,

For it is up to us to let Him in
In longing hope, He waits
And until we open up to Him
He’ll stay in second place.

By Kelene Blake