COME IN, COME IN

Dear Lord, I have swept and I have washed but
still nothing is as shining as it should be
for you. Under the sink, for example, is an
uproar of mice — it is the season of their
many children. What shall I do? And under the eaves
and through the walls the squirrels
have gnawed their ragged entrances — but it is the season
when they need shelter, so what shall I do? And
the raccoon limps into the kitchen and opens the cupboard
while the dog snores, the cat hugs the pillow;
what shall I do? Beautiful is the new snow falling
in the yard and the fox who is staring boldly
up the path, to the door. And still I believe you will
come, Lord: you will, when I speak to the fox,
the sparrow, the lost dog, the shivering sea-goose, know
that really I am speaking to you whenever I say,
as I do all morning and afternoon:
Come in, Come in.— Mary Oliver, “Making the House Ready for the Lord”

It’s Friday. For many of us, the week has left its footprints everywhere.

We have swept and washed. We’ve answered emails, paid bills, solved problems, carried burdens, and tried our best to make everything presentable. Yet somehow, life still feels a little untidy.

The poet Mary Oliver imagines preparing her house for the Lord’s arrival. But instead of perfection, she finds mice under the sink, squirrels in the walls, a limping raccoon in the kitchen, and a household that is anything but ready.

“What shall I do?” she asks.

It’s a question many of us know well.

What shall I do with the mess I can’t seem to fix? The relationships that remain complicated? The worries that keep returning? The unfinished parts of my life?

Oliver’s answer is surprising. She stops trying to create a perfect house and begins opening her heart. Looking at the fox, the sparrow, the lost dog, and the shivering sea goose, she says what may be the most welcoming prayer ever spoken:

“Come in. Come in.”

Perhaps God has never been waiting for a spotless house.

Perhaps God comes precisely into the places where life is still a little messy, a little broken, and very much unfinished.

This Friday, instead of worrying about what remains undone, consider offering a simple invitation.

To a neighbor.
To a stranger.
To a hurting friend.
To grace itself.

And maybe even to God.

Come in. Come in.

May your weekend begin not with perfection, but with welcome.

And may we each know in our own ways and now in this time
it’s not what we’ve done or more importantly,
what bothers us by what we have not done
so much is the invitation of come in come in~~anyway!