creation
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Hyperbole? Sure. Poetry? Of course. Understated? Infinitely. Could we with ink the oceans fill, And were the skies of parchment made, Were every stalk on earth a quill, And every man a scribe by trade, To write the love of God above Would drain the oceans dry; Nor could the scroll contain the whole, Though
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I love the fact that God didn’t ask us to figure Him out. We can’t. Even living eternally with Him, I doubt we ever could—and we might not even want to try. As analytical Westerners, we naturally task ourselves to explain things like how God came to be, how He made the universe, and what the end of the world will
Jay McCarl 