my coat.

My coat is dirty, and hers is too, his is cleaner, but not white like yours.

The banquet is so soon, and my wardrobe is still lacking.

But my coat is stained, far beyond washing.

The host is so wonderful; he would not accept my filth.

But I cannot simply strip from my coat; for it clings to the marrow of my soul.

The feast will be so divine, and my hunger goes deeper than my stomachs anguish.

But how can I gain entry, with my uncleanliness?

Would the host be so merciful?

My only option is to hope.

I approach the door.

I knock and ask for a seat at the table. Even though my coat is soiled.

You smile, invite me in, slide off your perfect coat, and set it on my shoulders.

I am a part of the banquet.

For it is only through a humble approach, that we can hope of ridding our grungy overcoats.

Receiving new warmth, cradled in the sleeves of love.

Our old coats are no longer our cloth. We trust you to grant us protection.

And it is with your love that we will give to others our freely received cloak as well.