That tree is mine’
I found it.
I watered it.
I nurtured it.
I pruned it.
I cared for it by prepping it for winter
It is on my land
That tree is mine.
However,
The sun,
The nutrients,
The water,
The photosynthesis process,
The myriad of biological processes,
That tree is, mine?
I woke
I worked
I bought seed
I planted
Watered
Watched
I ate
I grew
I cognate
I concluded
And yet
Did I?
Apart from Him?
In all the process it takes for one day, one day for me to experience an behold, what have I to do with it?. No, all is His.
Everything
Every thistle
Thorn
Great oak,
Ant.
Every natural process
Every biological wonder
His
And me,
I am dust.
His dust,
And He finds value in me,
He wants to be with me,
Talk with me,
Listen to me,
Watch me,
Guide me.
And what does he want from me?
Acknowledgment.
That,
All is His
Not mine.
His
Simply
Profoundly
Inexplicably
His.
And yet it makes sense,
Perfectly.
I did nothing, to create the power of the sun, the rotation of the earth, its distance from, perfect, its water, land, mass, perfect..
It is all His.
Resting in his hand
With my best interest in mind.
I am dust, it is where I came from and where I will go, and yet with soul I can point,
To Him.
Will I?
Because he deserves it,
And so much more.
Everything.
His.
