'This old door of mine'

This old door of mine,
hanging in the hall
It's seen its better days,
small user or tall.
Little hands open,
maybe stern hands close,
maybe a foot or two,
perhaps a knee, or a nose.

When it wasn't so old,
bought in the store
it may have been bare,
protection needed more.
The grain looked nice
straight, smooth, and tight
But the owner wanted a look
and plain wood wouldn't be right

So someone tried to protect it,
to make it look nice
painted by hand,
preferably coated it twice.
Over the years
other folks put on more,
giving it shield, shine, and load
for many years more

But some of that load
was tough on the door,
chemicals with poison,
or colors that bore.
This old door takes on a look,
old thick and unlevel
presenting a face to the world,
like inside lives evil.

But then came along a Host
that knew the grain inside
and gave it a gift of freedom,
no more pain to hide.
He stripped off the poison,
digging through habits black
using heat, tools, and pressure,
passing through the whole stack.

At last the door was clean,
at no cost to itself;
now it's ready for armor,
a presentaiton of wealth.
The armor is new and fresh,
protecting against any thorn
Not harm from physical damage,
but harm from any scorn.

Every door has an owner,
and users with foot, knee, and nose
To oil the hinges, polish the knob,
and ensure a clean close
My Jesus is my owner,
I am the door
my grain is my soul,
and it's guarded evermore

So when you see a door,
hanging there looking scruff
know you're seeing the outside,
worn, dented, and tough
fix the door's hinges,
give it a new knob,
and handle the door with care,
He'll guide you in your job.

Sean Parker, Nov 12,2003