No Equal Anywhere

There once was a question that puzzled young minds,
Of gods on the shelves in all shapes and all kinds.
“Are they all the same?” came the curious cry—
“Is anyone greater than he who is most high?”

Some gods were carved out of stone or of wood,
Made from bad thoughts they imagined as good.
They sat on their pedestals, silent and still,
Unable to speak or to move with any will.

But God wasn’t fashioned by hammer or hand,
No artist conceived him. He wasn’t planned.
He always has been—with no beginning or end,
The Maker of all, on whom all things depend.

He spoke, and the stars leaped to dance in the night.
His word made the darkness give way to the light.
He formed every heartbeat, each breath that we take.
He’s the giver of life—oh, what a wonder to wake.

And here is the twist that astonishes most:
He isn’t far away like a myth or a ghost.
He calls our names, says, “Come walk with me,”
Inviting us all to become who he wants us to be.

Nobody among gods, not one of any crowd,
Can compare to God. There’s no equal allowed.
He’s the true and eternal, the Life and the Way—
The God who still calls us to know him today.