My peach colored hands, that hold this pen

Your loving hands, that hold the world

My blue eyes, that see imperfection

Your all seeing eyes, see potential in all

My heart, that longs to beat for you yet clings to things of this world

Your heart, has all of the world, but your jealous and crazy about me

My hands, that, can help or can hurt

Your hands, formed me; every fingertip and crease

You said, "I am created, fearfully and wonderfully"

Yet you, never created, but always was,

are more fearful and wonderful than anything that could every exist

You made me who I am,

You know my name,

You call me your child,

And do I bother to ask why you even know the number of hairs on my head?

Your son died for me

Was whipped, beaten, and hung

on a cross.

Just so that the mistakes I've made can be erased and wiped clean

Why?

Because you're God.

Because you choose:

To love me.

To love you.

To love us.