I opened the door an inch or two
and said, “Lord, you can sit right here,
just inside the front hallway,
where the light is bright and clear.”

He smiled, looking past my shoulder
at the clutter down the hall.
“I brought my tools,” He whispered,
“and I’ve come to fix it all.”

“Oh no,” I said, stepping back a pace,
“the living room is off-limits today.
I have company coming later,
and things need to stay my way.

Besides, I’ve lived in this house for years;
I know where every floorboard creaks.
If I give you the keys to the heavy doors,
I won’t know what to expect in a week.”

He sat down on the bench by the coat rack,
unbothered by the dust on the floor.
“I am in no hurry,” He said softly.
“I’ll start right here by the door.”

Months went by, and bit by bit,
I opened a cabinet, then a shelf.
“You can have this closet,” I told Him,
“as long as I keep the rest for myself.”

He cleaned the dark corners without a sound,
leaving behind a quiet grace.
And every time He swept a room,
it somehow felt like a larger space.

Yesterday, standing in the hallway,
I held the heavy iron key.
“If I give you the whole foundation,” I asked,
“what will become of me?”

He reached out His hands, lined and worn,
and met my anxious eye.
“I didn’t come to tear your house down;
I came to build it high.

Give me the lease, my child,
and let the whole door swing wide.
You will never lose your freedom
when the Architect lives inside.”