Knocking At The King’s Door.

Reading through words by Oswald Chambers, my heart beats to the echo of s familiar knock.

“It is a humbling experience to knock at God’s door- you have to knock with the crucified thief.”

Approaching the door

A large and taunting door

I raise my hand

To make my presence known

As my fingers lift upwards

My knees fall downwards

Scurriedly, I step away

Just for a moment

To the river besides

Where it’s endless streams

Greet me once again

My body escapes into the cool waters

Gasping for air

My past sinks

And remains in the deep end

Swimming towards the shore

The door glistens

As a remarkable sunrise

Speaks of a new day

My body may return

To these waters

For that is what I am,

A body that inevitably

Picks up dust from this earth

But, for now

My two feet scurry

Weaving in and out of the trees

I reach for the door

It’s beauty

I did not see before

Do I dare knock?

What right have I?

My knock echoes through the woods

The door opens

And, my breath nearly

Counts amiss


The river’s gift to me

As I now

Knock on my King’s door
As I knock at God’s door, I realize that I am no more than dust of this earth. He didn’t have to create me, but He chose to do so. Maybe we forget that if it wasn’t for His breath, not a breath would escape our own lungs. As I dust myself off and allow Him to wash me in the river’s waters, my humble admiration and respect for my King grows with an unexplainable reverence. I knock because my heart yearns for Him, solely Him, and with my mark, I pray that His glory floods this forest.


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