There’s an old door in my garden,

Was put there long ago.

Rather than leave it for the trash,

I planted it so it might grow.

Dug deep I did that it might root,

And one morning I might see.

The hand of the Lord at work,

Of an old door birthed from a tree.

“Knock and it shall be open”,

These words written so long ago.

So much lay beyond for you,

More than you’ll ever know.

This door once hung on someone’s house,

Held by hinges made of brass.

Painted white, faded now,

With panes so crystal clear, now just broken glass.

How many times did one knock?

Yet never did enter in?

Held to all ones selfish needs and pride,

But not forgiven of their sins.

Every year I will replant,

With hopes that with sun and rain.

It will bring forth little seedlings,

From the wood, the brass and panes.

Then shall place God’s harvest,

Along my roadside, to take on your way home.

Then maybe plant some of you own,

From an old door, God had sown.

By; Linda Winchell

Copyright: 2008