[Poem]

My God is singular in holiness. His perfection is absolute. More immense than all of Creation, His galaxies spin on His fingertips, the universe sits in His palm. Yet for all His grandeur, He is mindful of me!

I went my own way. Lived my own set of rules. I despised Him, cursed His name, destroyed His creation in my womb. He cried with compassion, and waited patiently.

I spit in His face, nailed His hands, pierced Him with my love for sin. He hoped I would yet know His love.

I hated myself. Wept bitterly at having been made. But He still loved me tenderly.

Until, exhausted from defending my sin and weary of hate, I yielded myself to Him. I lay on the ground, His captive.

His kindness I felt in His hand as He gently held me and whispered that I was precious to Him.

Who understands His mercy that set me free? Who can have grievance against Him who forgives without second thought? Who could have imagined that the God of all that is, is mindful of me?