A plate is put before you:
The meat is fashioned, cooked perfectly;
Drizzled with glaze to its side;
The burnt pieces put off;
It looks like a cake decorated for a wedding.
Greens to the side, not touching the meat,
In it’s own compartment, layered on top of another;
Freshly green, the brown pieces are thrown away;
Potatoes are fried perfectly,
Fashioned together with vegetables;
Put on display like a king entering the city.
How can you say, “God doesn’t love me”?
You can tell by how food is made that it was made with love:
If food is fashion in such a way to be eaten and mixed with bile and destroyed,
How much more are you loved being put together by the Most High?
On your mother’s bed you were conceived;
You did not ask for life neither did you earn it;
Your father did not work, it was for love;
Your mother did not labor, but still you grew.
It was your Father God who knit you together:
He fashioned you with ligaments and muscles and bones.
He clothed you with hair;
Jewels set in place as vents for life;
Servants to take you places;
And servants to interact;
How beautifully and wonderfully you were made!
The One with unfailing love who loves you to death:
The King of kings and Lord of lords:
The Creator of your body, soul, and spirit.