If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, "Surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,"
even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.
We are so, so tiny.
And the universe is so vast.
And we grow tinier in the consideration of it.
Satellite images were made this week of the crowds that gathered on the Mall in Washington, D.C. for the inauguration. The dome and roof line of the Capitol was discernible, the peak of the Washington Monument in sharp relief.
And then there were the tiny dark specks carpeting the grassy lawns, visible only because of the sheer numbers gathered.
Tiny flecks comprising a great crowd. Every pinpoint a beating heart.
Crumbs of humanity.
And as I gazed at those images captured from the stratosphere of the heavens, as I tried to visually comprehend the very being of each one of those people, that overwhelm of our tininess was humbling.
We speak of 'big personalities', 'big hearts', a 'big girl' and a 'big boy'.
But we are tiny.
Infinitesimal when viewed from on high. Microscopic when viewed from just a few parsecs in space.
We somehow matter to a very big God.
He gazes at us from the heavenly realms and somehow keeps us all straight. He somehow knows and numbers each hair follicle. He captures each tear and keeps them warehoused with each of our names printed on our own bottle.
And He has written each of our names on His vast hands.
And He holds the whole world in those inscribed hands.
An infinite Creator.
An architect of universes.
A portrait painter of miniatures.
The vast vision of a telescope and the focus of an electron microscope.
He has made us of tiny bits of matter. And then He tells us we matter to Him.
We are tiny.
He is immeasurable.
And He has made it an equation of infinite love.