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.

hhmmm, 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 flower pot?

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

after he died.

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 keyhole

it fits perfectly.

turning to the right

i hear the clunk

of the mechanism.

i step into the foyer

removing my coat and baggage,

my shoes and hat.

crossing the floor

i reach the french doors

gently sliding them.

there is soft music.

recognizing the song

i join in.

i stop for a moment and close my eyes,

meditating upon the words.

i cross the warm carpeted floor

to another set of doors.

they have beautiful stained glass.

i speak the words i see etched

on the glass and smile.

i softly knock before entering.

the room is swelling with more music,

love songs.

i hear my siblings voices

filling the background

and then the reassuring voice of our Father.

"Hello Daddy"

"Hello son...

tell me about your day?"

i run

into His outstreched arms.

(L)