My spiritual house

My spiritual house is in disrepair. Broken furniture, broken shards of glass and a remnant of old dusty carpet remain where I once used to sweep things under the rug. Anger once lived here, but has since found a new place to dwell. The fence that surrounds my property is in desperate need of repair or replacement. Grass and weeds have overgrown in my once lavish flower bed. Perhaps I should pull the weeds that hide the inner beauty of my garden. Dead family trees surround my property which I will make good use of in a fire pit. I will plant new ones that will give birth to something new and magnificent when time for harvest; something never seen before. Dust has built up on that good book I used to read with such delight and fervency. I remember the excitement and expectancy I would have when reading the spoken word. The words spoke to my heart. It was like taking a drink from a river of living water as I would stoop down hastily for a drink. My thirst would be forever quenched when my ears, eyes and heart were opened. The river never dried up. I just went for a long walk and it still remains upon my return. It's time to shake off the dust from my boots and wipe the dust from the cover of the living word.