The budding rose. The towering oak.
The gentle stirring of the wind through ripening grain.
The roar of the waterfall. The trickle of a tiny stream.
The peace of sunrise. The awe of starlit nights.
Who am I, Lord, that I should be so blessed by Your imagination? The words I pen today can’t begin to capture an iota of the detail you’ve woven into even the smallest of molecules. And yet, how can I not try?
If imitation is the greatest form of flattery, then let everything I write today reflect the marvelous nature of Your creative spirit.
Signed,
Your little copycat