Choice

Choice

They said God had a plan,

blueprints rolled tight,

a map unfolded—

X marks the spot,

deviate and you’re lost.

But I read Paul’s letter again—

no map, just footsteps in dust,

no coercion, only the voice

of a father calling home.

If love isn’t chosen,

it isn’t love at all.

If faith is forced,

it’s not faith but fear.

We’re not machines—

no gears, no pre-set tracks,

no automaton prayers

clinking into heaven’s slot.

God doesn’t twist arms—

He woos, whispers, waits.

No locks on the door,

only light through the cracks

and a voice saying,

“Come and see.”