I've always desired to write like the Psalmists,
to give praise to the God who so loves me.

I seem to do better in light-hearted matters
and vulgarity.

But if I could write appropriately,
as if my words were even close to
the fullness of how much I mean them,
I'd say that I'd be nowhere without my true
Father.
The one who resides afar, but so near.
The omnipresent Triune God who loves me
more than I can stand to love myself.

(Notice how easily I make this about me, something I loathe.)

But my God, O God.
Your beauty is deeper than the ocean,
Your majesty stretches across the atmosphere;
nay, it stretches across the cosmos.
But a speck I am in Your glory
yet You love me all the same.
Yet You love me all the same.

The idea of You taking thought to create me,
with purpose no less,
blows my mind;
truthfully, my only hope
is to spread that love that you giveth me.

To reflect you.
To be a light unto others in Your name,
and yours alone.

Though my life feel like a desert,
You are an oasis.
Please fill my thirst.