A Poetic Account of the Creation

Job 38:4-11, 24-27 (Message)

"Where were you when I created the earth?  
Tell me, since you know so much!
Who decided on it's size?  Certainly you'll know that!
Who came up with the blueprints and measurements?
How was its foundation poured,
and who set the cornerstone,
While the morning stars sang in chorus
and all the angels shouted praise?
And who took charge of the ocean
when it gushed forth like a baby from the womb?
That was me!  I wrapped it in soft clouds,
and tucked it in safely at night.
Then I made a playpen for it,
a strong playpen so it couldn't run loose,
And said, 'Stay here, this is your place.
Your wild tantrums are confined to this place.'
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
"Can you find your way to where lightning is launched,
or to the place from which the wind blows?
Who do you suppose carves canyons
for the downpours of rain, and charts
the route of thunderstorms
That bring water to unvisited fields,
deserts no one every lays eyes on,
Drenching the useless wastelands
so they're carpeted with wildflowers and grass?"


Vanessa's Dad said…
Forgive me, Lord. I am grass withered in the wind.