Let Me In, Lord?
How might I request an invite to heaven
Do I write a formal letter to God
Or, text Him
Might I call Him on my cell
Or, be more public and ask Him on Facebook?
Or, could I have a secret code, filled with suspicions
Where I quietly lay before Him my good deeds?
Do I remind Him of what I could have done and did not, some of which I am proud, and some of which still makes me sick to my stomach upon reflection?
Like the time I want to shove food into my sister’s mouth
Just so she will hush?
Yet I do not.
Or the time I assist a poverty-stricken woman birthing her ninth child
After dying during birth, her husband places the viable new baby underneath her dead corpse saying
He cannot care for it and so it must die as well
I walk away and watch as another lifts the corpse, cradles the infant, and takes the tiny baby
I keep walking though my heart burns septic fires of disdain for my very essence . . .
We musn’t wait too long since we do not know when the end will come
We must prepare our hearts
For it is said we cannot get to heaven based on our deeds
It is said we cannot get to hell based on our sins
I am told we must ask for forgiveness and believe
Just, simply believe.
It’s called being saved.