The Garden is Made of Pixie Dust

I love that God knew, that we would need such ridiculous, hit-us-over-the-head metaphors, like the black, unknown of night, and the bright, hopeful day. I'm so silly sometimes, running around, all panicky, because, once again, night has fallen (as it always does at the end of the day), I can't see where I'm going, and so assume, that something must be wrong. It can't possibly be natural that it's going to be dark for a bit, and that I wont be able to see my hand in front of my face.

But, I am such a slow learner. Even in the natural world I am constantly in shock, wondering how on earth it is possible that hippos and zebras actually exist, that there is really a moon (there really is) - a chunk of rock, hanging over our heads, that pulls on our tides and hearts from thousands of miles away, that ugly, earthbound worms, morph into flying, bright butterflies, that everything is made of atoms with particles of space in between them like Swiss cheese, that salmon return to the exact spot where they began, years later, to spawn, that dinosaurs walked where my house is sitting? I mean, STOP ONE MINUTE! This is all a little bit crazy, don't you think?

This is all a little bit crazy.
I suppose, it's alright then, when those three o'clock in the mornings come and my fear is thick like that moonless black, and I am sure, that this difficulty is the exception, that this night will never end, and somehow, all the rules have gone to pot. I suppose, God knows how forgetful I am, how easily astounded, thrown off course, at a loss, doubtful, I can become. Because, he's got me on my toes, dancing around all these unbelievable facts, reminding me that I'm living in a real, live miracle, magic, in the shape of the day to day, the most impressive trick being, that morning has never failed me yet.