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| "What is man that You thought of them, & the son of man that You care for him?" | Ps. 8:4 |
Who am I that I should be pursued by Yahweh? This God, who brushes the trees with a sweet, but triumphed blow of the wind. This God, who paints the leaves- each one a new color. This God, who hurries the clouds as the warmth of the sun seeps through the gray masses. Who am I that He should think of me? I am but dust on the earth and sand that is easily deceived into thinking that if I work well enough, I can build a castle that will not fall or crash in the presence of the the washing waves upon the sea shore. I am convinced, day after day, into thinking that the temporal is to be held at the highest value. Oh, who am I that He should think of me? That He cares for me? Though I was formed from dust, and to dust I shall return, El Roi, the God who see's me, has unveiled my eyes to see glimpses of the eternal in the temporal and has granted me a mind that cannot accept blindly that the wind which is currently blowing through my hair, that the leaves which have fallen beneath my feet, and that the sound of the trees which is more overbearing than the sound of my voice has come from a being no greater than myself. Rather, I am convinced that the Divine has manifested Himself into flesh similar to mine so that I am enabled to sit upon this bench and dwell upon that which cannot be attained or comprehended in the flesh apart from a Holy Providence. I am convinced that because of the bloody death paid by this Divine Being, I can sit as a shell containing the Most High, who is to be credited for these thoughts with the imprints of the Holy Ghost and are far too lofty for the human to cultivate on his own.
I think I know. Like a child recognizing her fathers voice for the first time, I think I know what the sound of His presence may sound like. It's the sound of the trees as the wind blows back and forth. It's the sound of the ocean, when you can no longer hear the world and all you can dwell upon is the vastness of the waters. It's the noise that drowns out all else and provides mere mortals with a sense of immortality. It is these very sounds that when heard by even the deafest ears, one can no longer hear anything else. Who are we that You think of us?
I am brought to utter worship and praise at the mystery of a God I am assured of; yet, am still viewing through foggy eyes until the day my faith becomes my sight. Who are we that He cares for us? Jesus, our song everlasting.
