Friday, November 03 2006
Taking a break from C. S. Lewis today, I thought I would pass along something I received recently from my friend Wes Roberts. . . .
This God . . .
This God, who watches worlds:
sees my heart.
This careful calculator, counting millions:
counts me in.
This artist, whose canvas
outstretches eternity at both ends;
whose palette outshines planets:
paints my portrait.
This lover, who dreams in universes:
dreams of me.
This creator, whose breadth of vision spans time
and spawns a cosmos:
whose woven tapestry of purpose,
more compound than chaos,
rolls out like a highway through history;
whose heartbeat deafens supernovas:
This craftsman hears my whispered cry.
This father . . . kisses me.
playing with the deaths
and entrances of start;
scripting the end from the beginning;
knowing the purposes of the play,
watches my feeble audition:
and writes me in.
And if you doubt the truth of the poem have another look at Psalm 139 and the parable of the loving father in Luke 15 today.
Blessings . . .