The Maker of the stars doesn't need my worry
To hold the universe in His hands
He doesn't need my fretting
To roll out His perfect plan.
I can drive myself crazy
asking "what if?" and "what then?"
I can forsake sleep and fret instead
But swirling thoughts never end.
I can distract myself online
I can shop, and scroll, and watch
But eventually I must put the phone down
And be alone with my thoughts.
But since my Maker wrote my days
And his thoughts toward me outnumber the grains of sand
Maybe I can rest
Maybe I don't have to understand.