The Light That Loved to Make

(Genesis 1:1–2:3)

In the beginning,
before the beginning of anything,
there was no sky,
no sea, no singing, no seed,
no morning, and no you.

Only God.

And God was not lonely.
He was full,
full of a love that wanted somewhere to go,
full of a gladness that wanted to make.

So God spoke.

The very first word made light.
"Let there be light," he said.
And the light came running,
the way a child runs to a voice it knows.
The dark had to scoot over and make room.

And God looked at the light, and God was glad.
Good, he said.
The first good word of the whole world.

Then God kept making,
because making was a joy to him.

He hung the sky like a great blue curtain.
He gathered the waters and told them where to stop:
this far, little waves, and here is your shore.
He pulled up the dry land
and dressed it in green:
grass, and trees, and apples not yet ripe.

He set a lamp for the day
and a lamp for the night,
and he scattered the stars like seeds of light
he could not help but sow.

He filled the sea with slippery, splashing things.
He filled the air with wings.
He filled the fields with creatures
that run and leap and graze.
And after each one, God said the same glad word.
Good. Good. Good.

But God was not finished.
There was someone he most wanted to make.

So he leaned in close
to the new, soft earth,
and he made a person,
made them like himself,
to love, and to be loved.

And God looked,
and this time the word was bigger.
Very good, he said.

The whole big world was a home,
and God was building it for somebody.
For you.

Tucked into this very first page,
like a seed in the ground,
there is a promise:

the world is big, and you are small.
The stars are so far. The sea is so deep.
And sometimes small can feel afraid
in a world this wide.

But the God who made all of it
made all of it for you.
Not one star too many.
Not one wave too far.
He knew your name
before he made the light.
He loved you as if you were the only one,
and he will love every child he makes
exactly that much.

And the Word that spoke the light alive
was a Someone all along.

One day that same Word
would step down into the world he made.
He would have hands. He would have a face.
He would be called the Light of the world,
and he would come walking into our dark
the way the light came running
on the very first day.

And the dark would have to scoot over again,
and make room.

And when everything was made,
God rested and smiled over his work,
the way a builder leans back
when the last good stone is set.
The new world slept beneath the new stars,
and in the morning
there would be a garden.