My God is the God of small things.
Nutshells that contain multiple truths
in humble small containers.
My God is the God of small beginnings.
or opening eyelids.
If we but move today
we can accomplish what he asks.
God, my God of swaddled babes
that fumble for the breast
He teaches us the worth of
lying still in trust.
My God is the God of humble things.
Beds of straw.
Lives that don’t amount to much
if judged upon their origins.
My God is the God of silent things.
Passages in the dark.
Quiet incubators, within which cells divide
and muscles stretch towards the light.
God, my God of birth pangs
and pain that finds release
He teaches us that the dark
often precedes new life.
My God is the god of honed things
A carpenter sanding back the wood
to reveal the grain beneath.
My God is the God of beloved things.
Rescued for nothing they have done,
but because of a plan of redemption.
God, my God of Christmas coming
somehow the wonder of Advent
is knowing we need do nothing
but let new life be birthed in us.
©Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
Image Tim Humphreys, www.images.unsplash.com