To welcome the Lord
into my house
is to begin with cleansing—
to sweep the dust
of long-forgotten corners,
and lift each curtain
that has hidden the truth.

In closets sealed by fear,
I open the boxes—
untie the cords of greed and pride,
shake loose the dust of vanity,
and feed them to the fire
of repentance.

To welcome the Lord
is to kneel at the threshold,
where shoes once waited
for forbidden roads.
Now I set them aside,
and slip on the sandals
of purity and grace.

In the wardrobe of my heart,
I fold away the garments
of deceit and indulgence,
the worn fabric of quarrel and lust,
and dress myself instead
in the bright linen
of mercy and peace.

To welcome the Lord
is to cleanse the kitchen—
to pour away the overflowing cups
of desire and excess,
and fill the jars once more
with the Word that satisfies.

Each mirror in each room
must be polished clean,
until the stains of envy and complaint
are gone—
and the naked face of life
meets the gaze of grace.

The courtyard, too, must be weeded.
Vanity and self-importance
must be torn out by the roots,
so that tender shoots of truth
may grow in their place.

To welcome the Lord
is to kindle light in every room,
to pour the oil of patience
into the weary lamp,
and strike the match of prayer
against the flint of faith.

At last, I open every door wide.
The locks of honor, wealth, and power
fall away—
and only obedience remains
to usher Him in.

Now the Lord dwells wholly within,
and my house—
once silent and dim—
breathes again
with His light.