You are my inheritance ..

And You are my inheritance.

Not in the musty attic
Of a tired imagination
Where we keep forgotten playthings:
Our old, outgrown gods.

Nor in the best room, on display,
Inside grandma’s glass cabinets
Or stacked on modern shelves
The challenging conversation piece
To which friends must respond.

Nor in the family room:
Knocked about and battered,
Sat on by the children,
Worn and torn.
Misused for years, then broken carelessly,
And tossed out and replaced.

Nor in the kitchen
Hoarded and not shared,
Greedily devoured
In a moment’s desperate hunger,
And souring inside.

But in the intimate rooms
Where I hold you close
And you hold me, promising,
That oneday, someday
I can come to Your house
And stay forever ..

… lodged in living light.