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The monotony of God

Field of Chrysanthemums

“I make all things new,” you say.

And I think of you moving with creativity, ingenuity, innovation and originality.

A broad brush stroke sets the scene,

then the details, bursting full with your imagination.

All of nature, the world, the universe came into being this way.

But inside us too: new hearts, new lives, new directions.

You bring us healing, forgiveness and a brand-new joy.

 

Like a little child I shout “again!”

aware not only of the excitement of the way you surprise me,

but also of the comfort and reassurance of the known, the tangible.

“Do it again, Lord; again and again.”

 

Then there drops into my understanding

a realisation that you making things new again and again

means that, as well as having inspiration,

you enjoy repetition.

You’re OK with doing the same thing over and over again,

like each new morning arising from the darkness of night,

like each new daisy overwhelming a field of green,

like each new life created and saved for angels to celebrate.

 

Being the Rock on whom I depend

means you’re there all the time,

not flitting away when you get bored.

Being the same yesterday, today and for ever

means your character stays the same.

You won’t turn fickle and change your mind.

You’re trustworthy and certain

in a world of disbelief and doubt.

 

“I make all things new” is good news

for the visionaries who inspire us,

and drive us out of our comfort zones.

And it’s good news

for the plodders who love the familiar,

the constant, the everyday customs.

“Again and again, Lord; do it again!”

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