These are not my words but they express so well how I see what I must be about.


Men die outside the door, as starving beggars die

on cold nights in cruel cities in the dead of winter.

Die for want of what is within their grasp.

They live on the other side of it – live because they have not found it.


Nothing else matters compared to helping them find it,

and open it, and walk in, and find Him

So I stand by the door.


As for me, I shall take my old accustomed place

near enough to God to hear Him and know He is there,

but not so far from men as not to hear them.

and remember they are there too.


Where? Outside the door –

thousands of them. Millions of them.

But more important for me –

one of them, two of them, ten o them,

whose hands I am intended to put on the latch.

So I shall stand by the door and wait

for those who seek it.


I had rather be a door-keeper

so I stand by the door.

                                           Sam Shoemaker

This is only part of his poem. For the full version go to: