Did we author the universe and tell the earth to spin? Was it we who put a firey orb in the sky and decorate the blue heavens with white fluff?
And was it our idea to spot the night sky with burning stars that twinkle, or cast an evening brilliance that lights the path of the night wanderer along his journey?
We did not mold the mountains from emptiness, craft rocks and hills, crevices and moors with our bare hands nor form the waters, stand from afar upon completion, and say that it was good.
Was it our fingers that planted the first seeds of the
first flowers on those first days and made miracles sprout
from a dry earth? Reds, yellows, purples, pinks. Did we fathom the colors of the rainbow and say it was so?
When the time came to partake of the beauty that surrounded us from North to South, East to West, did we sit and thank ourselves for such bounty?
We did not breathe life into dust and watch it take form, become a living, breathing being, with eyes that could see, a heart that now beat, and a mind that could discern right from wrong.
The birds of the air – intricate, delicate creatures of the sky – the circle of life – could we do that?
We stood in a garden, stood back and with pride, called it less than sufficient as we took a bite of the forbidden fruit.
We gave tribute to chaos. We took from the tree, called ourselves wise and instead – became foolish.
We are still fumbling with our food. We are still slow to realize that in each new day – a gift – we still stare truth in the face and turn and choose the lies of the infamous enemy, the plotter of deceit, the stealer of joy, the prince of darkness. When will we see that truth is easily seen each and every day, our just for the taking.
But we make it so hard, don’t we?
Instead of giving thanks, we think of how many good things we can do to win gratitude, appreciation, approval. We think of all the reasons truth cannot be true. We find other things less worthy to invest our time and talents, our worship, our works, our praise, our attention. Lesser things. Things.
The gifts are free. They come from the hand of one who holds everything in His hand. There is no price, no hidden hoops to hop through, no secrets that haven’t been told. He waits, not with deceptive fruit, but with blessings untold. He waits with arms held open wide. He waits for you. Just you. To give all – His all – for you.
His,
Sherri
