You are the God of that land we have not seen,
and the God of this one we can.
You are the Maker of every square inch,
those we have discovered and those we never will.
You are the God of history, of ages, outside of time,
and it was Your imagination that crafted seconds, years, and light-years.
You are the weaver of the Milky Way, fitting together the stars
with fingers of harmony and sovereignty.
And we have utterly forgotten.
We have misnamed my demands, “prayer requests”
and have neutered their decietful ruse.
We call on Your name and demand Your attention,
and grumble when we cannot feel You near.
We would like to imagine You with a chair at the table,
a seat on our couch,
a guest in our home.
But our invitations betray our own thoughts of self –
that we could contain You, host You, entertain You;
that our lives could preoccupy this Great One.
You are the God of the bended ear,
including Your Divine Self in our effable world.
Whilst You spin the planets, we spin ours
In perpetual self-seeking, self-building,
and still You make our bodies Your dwelling place.
Great God of the heavens, we are frail.
We have fragile faith and even faultier faithfulness.
We have learned the language of self-reliance,
and we cannot seem to quit.
We demand You provide,
we barter our trust,
and our faith wobbles and falls
like a toddler’s top.
We ask that You would come.
because only You can remake us into people of faith.
Only You can lift our gaze to see how very small we are.
Only You can reach down from Your lofty perspective
and give us the sight to see our Great need.
Only You can give us grace enough
to be the small ones we are.
So, bend to us now.
Until our faith is
as Your sight.