It was only after the separation and the gathering,
That we made the growing things—
Fruits with seeds which lead to fruits with seeds,
Hearts that bloom and give birth to abundance.
We made patterns for our glory and your gratitude.
An apple grows this way; a fig grows that way;
And this is what the grapes will do.
So much variety in the unity of purpose,
A unity in diversity, reflecting us.
Then we dimmed our self and burned again:
The third day.
I know patterns are all around me.
I don’t see them with gratitude, though.
I see them with greed—trying to squeeze from them
Whatever suits my soul’s appetite.
But you made plants with seeds and fruitful trees
To give and grow. You are a giver.
I am a taker.
But please, my maker, pattern my heart
After your greatness.
It’s not a greatness that takes, that consumes,
But a greatness of seeds: a giving
Running through the seasons.
Help me also to see the pattern of today,
The ways you have set like streams,
That I might step into the current of the momentary
And point to you.
What do you say?