Look at everyone
Running around building houses
Are you afraid of the rain?
Do you need somewhere to put the things you’ve draped your identity over?
Do you keep the doors locked in fear of really letting anyone in?
Why are you building a house anyway?
When it’s done you’ll hang your worth on the work of your hands.
You’ll broadcast your success as it stands for all the world to see.
And then you’ll die
And the wood will weather
And all along it was never your hands building a house that was meant to be your memory
It was the home of your heart where you were destined to find true rest.
The Home of Jesus is waiting, put your hammer down.