Awe

God look at this. Just look at this. I'm standing here and I don't have words. I literally do not have the words. The sky is so big tonight, and every single star is just punched into the darkness like You took Your finger and poked holes in heaven so the light could bleed through. And I know, I know that each one of those points of light is a furnace burning millions of miles away, and some of them died before I was born and I'm only now seeing their goodbye. The scale of that God, the scale of that breaks my brain.

You made all of this. You spoke and oceans filled. You breathed and mountains rose up out of the ground like they were trying to get closer to You. The tides obey You. The seasons rotate on Your word. Somewhere right now, a whale is diving into a trench so deep that no light has ever touched the bottom and You see it. You know it's there. You know its name, if whales have names. And honestly, God they probably do, because that's exactly the kind of thing You'd do.

And then there's me. Standing here on this little rock, in this little corner of one galaxy among billions and You know my name too. That's the part that wrecks me. Not that You're big. I can see that You're big. But that You're big and You're here. With me. Right now. That the same hand that scattered the stars across the universe is the same hand that catches my tears when I'm falling apart on a Tuesday night. How? How does that work?

I feel so small right now, God. But not the bad kind of small. Not the invisible kind. The held kind. The kind of small where you realize you're a child and your Father is enormous and that's the safest feeling in the world.

What is man that You are mindful of him? I've read that verse a hundred times, God, but tonight it's not a verse. It's a real question coming from a real place in my chest. What am I that You think about me? You, who engineered photosynthesis and invented the concept of color and decided that birds should sing at dawn just because it's beautiful. You think about me. You think about my Thursday. About my commute. About the thing I'm nervous about next week. That's insane, God. In the most reverent way possible that is absolutely insane.

And it's not just that You notice me. You pursue me. You came down. The God of nebulae and northern lights and the rings of Saturn You came down to walk on dirt roads and eat fish with fishermen and hold children in Your lap. You made Yourself small so I could understand how big Your love is. I will never, ever get over that. Not if I live a thousand years.

I don't want to lose this feeling, God. I know tomorrow I'll go back to my routine and the wonder will fade a little. The dishes and the emails and the noise of being alive will crowd in. So I'm asking You keep showing me. Keep stopping me in parking lots with sunsets I didn't expect. Keep waking me up with rainstorms that sound like applause. Keep putting me in places where I have no choice but to look up and remember who You are.

You are so beautiful, God. Everything You've made is shouting it the mountains are shouting it, the oceans are roaring it, the stars are burning it into the sky every single night. And I'm just standing here one tiny voice in the chorus whispering You are wonderful. You are wonderful. And I am so glad that I am Yours.