You are all things. All grace. All holy wrath, all fire. All lovely, all pure, expanding into the infinite, the roaring waters that flood and feed my soul. You are the Maker of clay pots, broken vessels, mute and thoughtless. You are the answer. You are treasure poured out into my spirit, with Your Spirit mingling, entwined.
You are the wind and the storm. You are more. All light, highest King, Shaker of nations, You, Lord. The swell in my song, the child in the stable born. All stars in the night sky shimmer and tremble at Your touch. You are silence, blood spilled. Veil torn.
You are all goodness, all glory. Sunlight through trees that kisses my cheek. You are presence. Peace. My shalom. You are fire in the hearth, You are home. You are the Author of everlasting life and You are the sweetness of oranges in summer. All times, all places. Your grace is louder than my mistakes, open-armed, disarming me from battle and examining my scars. Healer. Tender. Gardener of this plot of dust, You raise me up.
You are the blazing dawn, Opener of doors. Ever-wild, all-consuming, all dream, all reality. The flight of swallows wandering, the brilliance of the moon at night, Holder of my hand, solid earth beneath my feet. You are always enough, all greatness, all wonder, all sound and sight, bringing dead to life, You are closer than my heartbeat, the very sound of sacred breath too holy for my tongue, name above names, renaming us as Yours, You are. You are. You are.