My God is the God of small things.
Seeds.
Newborn babies.
Nutshells that contain multiple truths
in humble small containers.
My God is the God of small beginnings.
Like breathing
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.
Caves.
Beds of straw.
Lives that don’t amount to much
if judged upon their origins.
My God, is the God of silent things.
Wombs.
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
Parred down.
Simplified.
A carpenter sanding back the wood
to reveal the grain beneath.
My God, is the God of beloved things.
Neglected.
Abandoned.
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
December 2017
Photo: Photo by Wynand van Poortvlioet, Unsplash
Living Tree Poetry 