The Day God Rolled His Sleeves

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The inky dark,
The empty space
The blank and shapeless void.
The nothingness
With lifeless form
Of motion yet devoid.

 

Into the black
Now burst His glow
With Holy Brilliance ‘Round.
Expansive surge
With Energy
His purpose would abound.

 

“Let there be light,”
And it was so
Vivacious was His Word.
His Tongue, a Sword
Of power touched,
To spark a ray transferred.

 

Create expanse
With single force
The Logos He expressed.
The night, the day,
The land, the sea,
“All perfect,” He professed.

 

Let seedlings sprout,
Let trees bear fruit,”
He sang and it was so.
The lesser light,
The greater light,
His mouth set each aglow.

 

The waters teemed,
The skies they filled,
Of creatures great and small.
With crawling,
flying energy
By verve that He installed.

 

No arm of pow’r,
No slight of hand
Did beast, His touch they need.
One Breath, One Pant,
One Note, One Song
His Word did life proceed.

 

And then day six,
“Let Us make man,”
An order preconceived.
His Voice this too,
This mortal flesh,
Could verbalize with ease.

 

Yet on this day
Of hallowed birth,
His image did He make.
With silence bent
to touch the dust.
For Love His heart did ache.

 

The clay there in
The Potter’s Hands;
His Nails the grime They knew.
He’d formed the ground
For this event
To stir the sticky roux.

 

And then down to
His Face He pressed
The lifeless soil He’d formed.
His spotless lips,
Now kissed the loam
His Hands tenderly warmed.

 

So bitter was
The taste to Him
Foreshadowed yet with pain.
Creative Love –
No Fear in Death –
For Life’s ultimate gain.

 

And on that hour
Our Perfect God
In quiet did He bow
To puff in us
His vital Breath.
His likeness on our brow.

 

Then as He raised
His Mouth, His Hands,
His Knees, His Feet were stained.
An evidence –
A Father’s Heart –
A care to be maintained.

 

So when we fail
Or stumble now
Why then we sulk in shame?
Our God from time
Beginning on
Has always known our name.

 

Within His Heart,
Within His Eye,
And yes, upon His Hand.
First mud and dew,
Then spit and nail
Was all part of His plan.

 

Your guilt, disgrace,
He’s seen before
Since age began and yet,
An humble heart
Is all He seeks:
Return whence you’er beget.

 

Our Logos God,
He needs no word,
To speak of your remorse.
Just heart and soul
Repentant be
Will speak to Him with force.

 

Today remains
His great resolve;
Eternal He will be.
His fingerprint
Still rests upon
The sticky you and me.

 

hisfingerprint

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(Inspired by the writings of my dear friend, Amanda Taylor Walker. Rainbow by Sara Jeng Grewer.)

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