The common places declare the glory of God;
the simple proclaim the work of his hands.
Day after day they whisper his rhythms;
night after night they reveal truths.
They speak in sparks and transfers;
Atoms and charges that no one sees.
Yet their message reverberates in every room,
their declarations in the foundations of every house.
In the walls God has confined a current.
It is like lightning harnessed in a wire,
like a champion rejoicing to run his course.
It enters at the fuse box
and makes its circuit to the outlets.
No one lives without its charge.
The Ohm's law of the Lord is balanced,
pacing our energy.
The electrons of the Lord are consistent,
making wise the simple.
The insulators of the Lord are right,
a shield to the heart.
The voltage of the Lord is radiant,
powering light to the rooms.
The shock of the Lord is real,
reminding forever.
The ground to the Lord is prudent,
and all respect of the rules is righteous.
They are more precious than a generator,
than much stored energy;
they are sweeter than Christmas lights,
than Mainstreet during the Holidays.
By them your servant is warned;
in keeping them there is great reward.
But who can foresee a shortage or trip?
Forgive my misplaced reliance.
Keep your servant also from careless usage;
may consumerism not rule over me.
Then I will be content,
innocent of great waste.
May these words of my keyboard
and twenty-first century meditations
be pleasing in your sight,
Lord, my Power and my Ground.
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