The Maker of the Stars

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.