The Earth, The Sky and Everything In Between

You see me at my worst and you see me at my best. My best isn't all that much. It's not good enough for heaven. You're good enough for heaven, and I can't understand just how good you are. I'm a long way off from 'good', even at my best.

You command worship, and your creation responds. Nothing is as it seems to my eyes. Yet you see. Trees stretch out as hands lifted. Waters sway back and forth, a dance you have always lead. The rocks cry out. 

My eyes wonder at your creation. Your ways are bigger than my little head.

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I am so quick to cast blame. I am anxious. 

I set on you a crown of thorns. I am the thornweaver.

I rail against your gifts. I am the blind discontent. 

In my blindness, I declare a new law. I am a revolutionary.

I declare my law the new law. I am an old story.

I carry malice. I carry prejudice.

My prejudice is against you.

But you see me. Your eyes reveal the truth.

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I am the fly and the window. My freedom is my arrogance is my prison.

I am the artist and the sage. My wisdom is my yearning is my desparate folly.

I am desperate for a truth that lets me hate you.

I am desperate.

You are not desperate.

You are content.

I hate that I can't fool you.

You are not a fool.

I long to fool the unfoolable.

I want to back you into a corner of logic.

You are unmovable.

Why aren't you corruptable? Why can't you compromise? Do you ever get tired of interrupting the life I want for myself? 

Yet I am the fly, and I am the window. 

That monstrous interruption of my existence is your hand. If you were so big, you could break the window and set me free. You probably wouldn't get hurt. Can God bleed? Instead, you sit there. You speak. 

You want to take me away from my window. But my window is me. I am the fly, and I am the window. Would you reject what you have made? Did you make a mistake? Was I a mistake, that you now seek to correct? If it's your fault, then you change me. You make it happen. I'll be right here, the fly and the window. 

Hear me, God, for I have spoken. Now I look through my window. I see the trees in bloom. I see the waters rise and fall. I see the mountains. Why am I drawn to them?

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How can I say thank you? What are the words? 

Your hands are shepherds hands. You are the good shepherd. 

You lead me beside still waters. You lead me through the mountains and valleys alike. Your orchard bears fruit. 

You have the world by its corners, and you named the stars, and you call to them, and they answer your call. 

I am nothing. 

You extend your shepherds hand. You call me by my name. A new name.

My name is David. My name is Adam. My name is child. I hear your voice.

My wings are broken. I have fallen. I am nothing. 

Your hand I feared and hated. Your motives I criticized. Your goodness I rejected. I was the fly and the window.

Now my wings are broken. I am no longer a fly. 

I fell into your hand. You removed me from the window.

All I was and knew is gone. I am empty. I am nothing. 

You carry me to places unknown, untested, uncertain.

Yet you are certain. You are tested. You know.

You know my fears. You know my doubts. You know my ways and you know my secrets. I have no secrets anymore.

You carry me across a threshold. I am consumed by a new world that is as terrifying as it is beautiful. I cling to the hand I once hated.

Clinging, I am led beside still waters. Clinging tighter, I pass through the valley of death, and you are faithful to lead me out the other side. You are faithful.

You are faithful.

You are faithful.

I am a wingless fly. I have no window.

I have nothing.

I am nothing.

You are everything.

I am in your hands.

You are faithful.