TABITHA'S WRITING

God, You're kind of hard to figure out.

You are scholarly, inventing the hundreds of languages we speak,
Writing the laws we try to obey

You're also delicate, swirling your brush across the sky,
And leaving behind blues, purples, pinks, and reds

Your power speaks in the rushing turbulence of white water
Pushing its way between high walls of stone.

Your innocence comes through the cry of a small baby,
Expecting to be fed

You are wild as the eagle, soaring above the water,
His talons outstretched as he dives for a silvery fish

You, oh God, show me Your stubborness
Like the wild goats with locked horns,
You refuse to give up on me.

Through the roses, the butterflies, the hummingbirds,
I see Your beauty... how You delight in that which is good.

I see Your love in the giving up of Your son
To pay for the times I mess up.

But most of all, I see Your humor,
Your love of a good laugh,
When I look at me.

*by Tabitha Thompson*