The Faithbook

A place of writing and reflection…

A Man’s Heart is His Home

A man’s heart is like his home. It’s where he stores his fondest memories like precious pictures on the mantle. He keeps the love of others like warm blankets on a bed. Words of encouragement are stacked there also as dishes in a cupboard. And just like a house, a man’s heart bears windows and doors. These he may open and close to any fair summer breeze or a welcome guest.

These are often many of his choosing while others are mere passersby. He shares with them his precious mementos and secret treasures. Some tread carefully while others not at all. Some applaud his spotless glassware while another scrutinizes a slightly scratched frame. Still others bring with them destruction.

They smash the man’s pictures to the ground only to trample them underfoot a moment later. They toss his delicate china like Frisbees teasing him to catch them as they fly by. They shred the once lovely bedding leaving remnants scattered about the room. The man tries to force them out yet they refuse to flee. Rather, they rip open every door and window calling those like them to join in on the fun.

The man is left with no choice but to watch as his home is ruined. Yet he has none to blame; so he has been told since he invited the original guests. He had been warned not to open that door, yet he did. Now he stood helpless watching the destruction. He mourns the loss of gifts from friends and warm family memories.

When he tries to stop his guests and their company they bind his feet so he may no longer bother them. They break out the windows and take all the food. They tear down the cabinets and set a portion of the home on fire leaving only ashes. When his guests finally leave him they bid him adieu with a promise to return – and return they do.

Daily they come, bringing new troubles. They pull up the floor boards and split the window frames. They tear down the finely printed wallpaper and ruin the paint. They turn to the man and taunt him with their work. He begs them to stop but they are relentless. Nor is there anything to satisfy their thirst for destruction. The man’s house is left in turmoil and he alone must bear the load. All alone he mourns the damage. He pleads his guests to leave only for them to spit in his face. They mock him and continue about their way.

For days and what seems like years the torture continues until the man has had enough. He threatens to destroy what is left of his house which is his heart. His visitors laugh in spite of his desperation. His threat does not scare them. They would simply move to the next soul.

But this day was different. In a house filled with torturous laughter, there is a knock heard at the door. Was that sound there before? Even the man’s guests are silent. They growl in anger drawing back into the recesses of the house. The man however, keeps a tentative ear. The sound is familiar and quite different from all his past visitors. Who was it waiting on the other side of the door? Why had they too not barged in with the rest?

There is was again – the steady gentle tapping at the door. This was someone different, but who could it be? The man puts down the devices of his demise and drags himself to the door. His guest growl and shout. They grab at him trying to stop him, but nothing they can do can compel him away from the door. They know who is on the other side and should the door be opened their fun would come to an end.

They shriek and claw at the man though they know it is pointless now. With a twit of the knob the door is opened and a great light pours is. Standing at the door is the One with nail scared hands. In an instant the man’s guests are forced to flee, leaving only their past brutality as proof of their existence. The man looks up at the One at his door. He is perplexed. Why had this One not come sooner so he would not have had to endure all that was done to him?

The One smiles with an out stretched hand. “I’ve been standing here since the beginning of your troubles waiting to see if you would let Me in, but in all the chaos you did not hear me. Since now you have opened the door, let us go in and make new what has been lost.”

Copyright 2011 The Faithboook
Photo courtesy of


2 comments on “A Man’s Heart is His Home

  1. Molly N.
    Mar 22, 2011

    Love it! Love the picture too.

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This entry was posted on Mar 16, 2011 by in When He calls and tagged , , , , , , .



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In Mosul, ISIS militants marked with a spray-painted ن (the Arabic letter for “N”) all Christian property to be seized after the ultimatum. “N”, or ن​, is the first letter of the Arabic word for Christian, “Nasrani” or Nazarene. #pray4thepersecuted

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