I have a home - four walls, a stove.
That folks find without fail.
It's not as clean as some I've seen.
But still, they blaze a trail.
From far and near they trickle here
Some days they simply flood.
Knock knock - surprise! - I close my eyes
And wish for extra food.
I can't prepare. I'm unaware
Of who might happen by.
They text. They call. I love them all
So much I just might cry.
I sigh and try to serve them well
Despite my selfish heart.
But hosting wears my kindness thin
And picks my peace apart.
At last, I rest, the house a mess,
And eye my sticky floor.
I would treasure silence less
If it happened more.
But this routine of listen, love,
Of stillness, service, sleep
Provides me joy, paints pictures of
How Jesus welcomes me.
Against all odds, unlovely, flawed
I'm always ushered in.
His grace, my hope. His heart, the home
That teaches mine to give.
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