We Are God’s Poetry

With billions and billions of people on the planet, it’s so easy to feel lost and alone. We may shuffle by dozens, even hundreds of people a day, and yet we take no notice of each other.

I remember when I would find an ant hill as a kid. I just loved knocking it over and watching all the ants scatter. They frantically ran circles around each other, and you couldn’t tell one from another.

Many times since then, however, I’ve felt like one of those ants. Whether standing in a crowded arena, shopping mall or church, I was just one of the crowd, scurrying around, meaning nothing to anybody. Or so my doubts and fears continually try and convince me.

In the movie “Constantine,” the lead character says, “God is a kid with an ant farm.”

Sorry, but I don’t subscribe to that theory. YES, I’m one of billions. YES, there are thousands, millions of people more talented than me, better looking than me, richer than me.

You feel the same way sometimes, don’cha?

But you’re special to God, and you’re special to me.

I know, I know, you’re saying, “You don’t even know me, dude.”

I’d like to counter that by saying, just the fact that you’re reading this blog—my heart’s cry—means we’re sharing an emotional bond. We’re part of something special. We’re friends, even if I don’t know your name. Sounds a little “New Agey,” I guess, but I can live with that.

Perhaps you don’t feel special, though. Insults and tragedies and anxieties and fears and depression and trials and tribulations have turned you into a person you may not even recognize anymore. Furthermore, you might have people around you who make you feel even worse about yourself than you already do. Those miserable souls who are so unhappy they try to pummel everyone else around them into submission, until you feel as low and pathetic as them.

Maybe you can feel their disapproving eyes on you. Perhaps those rude, so-called “friends” or so-called “family members” tear you down, rip you apart and leave your emotions bleeding, lying on the floor in a motionless heap.  Sure, others have their personal assessment of us, and many of those opinions may be displeasing, depressing, disgusting and debilitating, but this is what King David stated regarding the way God feels about us:

For You shaped me, inside and out. You knitted me together in my mother’s womb long before I took my first breath. I will offer You my grateful heart, for I am  Your unique creation, filled with wonder and awe. You have approached even the smallest details with excellence; Your works are wonderful; I carry this knowledge deep within my soul.

“You see all things; nothing about me was hidden from You as I took shape in secret, carefully crafted in the heart of the earth before I was born from its womb. You see all things; You saw me growing, changing in my mother’s womb; Every detail of my life was already written in Your book; You established the length of my life before I ever tasted the sweetness of it (Psalm 139:13-16).”

And there is much sweetness to be had in life. I mean, even if we’re literally just talking about sweets, right? Seriously, how can you not revel in chocolate?

But I digress. I’m a big fan of food, so I’ll move on.

Some days we don the ill-fitting garments of despair and loneliness, yet nobody catches it. Our hearts want to scream out, “Look at me! Listen to me! Love me!

Well, I’m here to tell you, God sees you, and loves you. You’re not a “nobody” to Him; you’re His child.

For the Lord your God has arrived to live among you. He is a mighty Savior. He will give you victory. He will rejoice over you with great gladness; he will love you and not accuse you. Is that a joyous choir I hear? No, it is the Lord himself exulting over you in happy song (Zephaniah 3:17-18a).”

My son, Trey, and I are poets. When we feel inspired to write a new poem, we begin crafting the piece, slowly, methodically. We can’t rush it, because that makes for shoddy art. Once the “skeleton” of the poem is finished, we step away from it for a couple weeks.

Forget about it.

It’s there, and it’s not bad, but it’s nowhere near finished. After a short time away, we’ll come back to it and begin sifting our way through, carefully, deliberately. Deleting a word here, tweaking a phrase there, crafting the poem until it’s finished.

We have become his poetry, a re-created people that will fulfill the destiny he has given each of us, for we are joined to Jesus, the Anointed One. Even before we were born, God planned in advance our destiny and the good works we would do to fulfill it (Ephesians 2:10)!”

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Yes, you are a poem to your Creator, but perhaps you’re stuck in that “forget about it” stage. You were fashioned in the womb, but feel like not much has happened since then. I’m here to tell you, though, God is working on you, even if you aren’t aware of it. He’s blessed you with hardship in order to strengthen your resolve. He’s allowed “challenging” people (I prefer that word over “stupid”) to cross your path in order to assemble the fortress of patience you will need for future adversity. He’s watched the tornadoes and hurricanes and floods and fires ravagebut not destroyyou, so you may revel in the peace and tranquility of a spring morning.

And on and on His work goes, day-by-day, word-by-word, trial-by-trial, piece-by-piece.

God sees you, He loves you, and He’s rooting for you. He wants nothing but the best for you, so you should really think about giving Him your best in return.

I think He deserves at least that, don’t you?

We are God’s poetry.

What a lovely thought, my friends.

Many blessings on you and yours.

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