That thing He does.
That thing that makes me crumble into tiny pieces scattered before Him and say, "oh, you're so good."
That thing that makes me stop in my tracks and smile like a lunatic at the summer sky.
"What're you doing?" asks the boy.
"Look: it's just so beautiful," I breathe.
That thing. It's beautiful.
It's Him. He's beautiful.
His hand that paints all the saturated clouds in the April sky.
His mouth that breathes out the celestial nightlights, and their names too.
His feet that hop over fences and toddle down rocky driveways and sprint through overgrown fields of wheat if it means rescuing his precious lamb.
These things He does, they're beautiful.
He is a thousand times more-so.
It's always like springtime with You, making all things new
Your light is breaking through the dark
This love it is sweeter than wine
Bringing joy, bringing life
Your hope is rising like the dawn
This is what You do, this is what You do
You make me come alive
You make me come alive
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