I have seen the hand of God.
I sit in humble awe and endeavor to paint its attributes for the renewal of humanity.
God’s hand was small. The fingers were round and plump, bearing no scars of a life long-lived of earthy strife. The nail beds glittered with remnants of a shiny paint that appealed to God for no other reason that it sparkled. Beneath the nails were remnants of fine sand that had been gently molded into vast shapes and towers of the Castle of Daydreams. But most beautifully and most profoundly; clutched in the innocent hand of God was a marvelous cluster of wilting dandelions that were offered to me in all my unworthiness as the purest gesture of love.