My God is not random.  He loves me.  He loves you.

He created Adam and Eve.

He put them in a perfect place.  He had

communion with them. He gave them

e v e r y t h i n g.

My God is not random. He longs for that with you and me.

I am Eve, you are Adam but we live in a broken place.

We are wreckage.  We are turmoil and pain.

But he never stops loving us red, yellow, black and white.  All named Precious!  Precious brown and beige and ivory.  Precious bronze, chestnut and chocolate. Precious cinnamon and cocoa, ecru and ginger.  Tan and tawny.  Even terra-cotta.  Precious chestnut, alabaster, and milky white. Precious ebony and obsidian. Precious slate.  Cream and sand. He made us and calls each one Precious.

My God is not random.  My God loves all.

Big & tall.  Short and fat.  Skinny or petite.  Hideous.  Beautiful.  Proud.  Angry.   Perfectionists and slackers.  Healers.  Takers.  Know-it-alls and those that don’t.  Intellectuals.  Mystics.  Liberals.  Moderates. Conservatives.  indifferent. All. Those that clean and serve.  Those that won’t.  Prosperous or poor.  Passionate or indifferent. Foolish or wise.  Filthy or Clean.  Hungry or full.  Broken and hurting.  Devastated and afraid. Crushed.  Alone. Dieing.  Texting ten and those that don’t.  Those that go and those that stay.  Loved and precious.  ALL.

I am Adam.  You are Eve.

Don’t ya get it? Don’t you see?

We messed up this place.

Think you’re important?  He seriously does not care, unless you choose to help.

It is no matter to him who you are or what you have done .  That you have Hated.  Ignored.  Hurt.  Judged.

He loves you, Me, Adam, Eve.

All of us, He loves and calls us precious.

Then he let us choose.

We walked away. We ignored.

My God isn’t random. He says:

Come Eve.  Come Adam.  Come into the garden.  Dwell.  Be with me.

See the world  Do something. Feel the pain of others and respond.

I am the world.  I am hungry.  I am thirsty.  Feed me.  I am a stranger.  Invite me to your meals. I am cold and in need of clothes.  Cover me. I am sick, imprisoned won’t you look after me?

I gave you everything. What will you choose?

If you say “That can not be you Lord!  When are you ever hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison?”

Look! If we turn toward him, he will

break our heart. He will give us

Eyes. Ears. Hands. Feet.

He is not random. He let’s us choose.

He loves the hungry.  He loves the thirsty.  He loves the naked, the sick, the incarcerated.   He loves me and you.  No mater what we do.  No matter what we’ve done.

He wants your tomorrows.  He wants communion with you.  He named you Precious.

Won’t you listen, come.

Written in response to the crisis in Haiti.  To those who cry out in a moment like this and say “if there is a god he is terrible.  How could he?”  In my perhaps inelegant way I am trying to say he loves each of us and if we were to respond to him the world would be such a better place.  The poverty and tragedy in Haiti has been there for hundreds of years.  The world ignored, but for a few.  And still, he loves.

this poem is far from done.   a torrent of thoughts.  still unruly and a mess.