God's Kind of Poetry

So vast my finite words cannot encapsulate Your glories limitless; I try to grasp the wonder of the infinite God-creator, confined to the close walls, soft, nurturing walls of Mary's womb, cells dividing, mysterious conception, Your human body forming, growing suspended in life preserving liquid, tiny fingers, toes present, infant eyes viewing scene so small within your tiny room. God, who created space and light, dwelt in darkness, born with a cry, born to die that I might live, born to take upon Yourself my sin, born to rejection, scourging, hatred, crucifixion, death . . . You rose triumphant over all cast against You, triumphant over death, triumphant over hell itself, my God, risen and coming again, my incarnate King. Your poem of redemption reached earth in the form of a baby, writing its lines of grace and forgiveness upon my heart, upon the world. Copyright, September 25, 2014 Faye Lanham Gibson