My petite fingers folded, then reached—
my knuckles whispering ko… ko… ko
against Heaven’s door.
Gently.
Reverently.
And I waited—obedient,
grinning with excitement, yet impatient—
for a response.
But there was none.
Still, I waited,
the way I knew how.
Then I thought,
Did You not say
to those who knock,
the door shall be opened?
What about me?
So I knocked again.
Harder.
Faster.
Yet patiently.
Maybe this time
an angel would hear
the painful whispers
of my knuckles on Heaven’s door.
I knocked once more—
faster, then harder—
perhaps God would notice
the chaos of my hope
banging against Heaven’s door.
Still—
no response.
So I gave in to despair,
clothed in waiting.
I gave in to despair,
adorned in trust.
This much I had forgotten:
a Father so close to His daughter
her whispers,
He can hear.
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