The he"ART" of my Father's Womb

Thriving and complicated, tucked away from darkness.

So delicate and specially made, shielded and garnered by the blood of his son's fondness.

More vast and unique as an open glade...
For the priceless word, he spoke, energized life from its void spaces as more valuable than all the world's tokens.

God didn't reveal his gifts on a stage...
He revealed his gifts while sitting in the audience thru identities and faces, page by page.

The womb is the sweetest nectar of love on our father's canvas.

The artists plight of freedom for the creator to leverage.

To pave a road of warmth, generationally interconnected by veins of his word in cycles.

Labor is his and birth is ours to the world, Labor is my mother's and the birth is him in the world.

The seed of my womb is the space the Lord can be an artist.
The canvas to create man is the art, and the gift that is multiplied by his likeness.

When we are born in the body, we regress to death and born in the spirit graduate to his wealth.

For those cycles are the many artistic seasons of our Father's Womb.