I stand in an old hallway lined with doors; without thought, I'm pulled toward one to explore.
The lintel is worn, the wood barely hinged, yet no knob or key to allow me in.
Thought once timid now curious for entry; a voice echoes in the hall, illuminating the worn gently.
Here I am, I will accompany the cold and dim; with one thread of your longing, I'll pull you toward Him.
In circles, I rotate to echo's inviting beat; wait, has that light been there lingering at my feet.
Sewn in front of me, fluid and gold, I tiptoe through its rays guided by warmth's hold.
The haze of echo's song still clouds my head, but willing feet pursue what from the doorway is bled.
From a once small crack, now becomes the opened; I still cannot see what form Echo has chosen.
The echo illuminates inside exposed room. I must enter; what figure has this whisper assumed?
The figure approaches - to me now bound. Whisper becomes voice, clarity in sweet sound.
Mercy is not offered so one might attain said truth; no, the door becomes opened so truth can find you.
Simply let your longing drench words spoken, for I prosper in the midst of the suffering and broken.
Can I stay here always; will you ever leave? I fear if the door closes, my heart will surely grieve.
I am a gift that is given from the Lord above, and the freely given can never be undone.
The door will remain open; you can eternally stay; you only need illuminate, for others, the way.
From within this room, I must depart; although, I remain in the deepest valleys of your heart.
"What is your name," to the echo my eager voice did chase.
A blessed whisper returned:
My name is Grace.