Hey! So I made a little meme and poem in honor of God’s masterpiece:
God finished on the Sixth.
He finished everything but one.After creating all
And doing all to be done,
Almighty He edited some…The light was good,
But not that great.
The day was bright,
And night was easy on the eyes.The sea was plentiful,
But not that beautiful.
The land was pleasant,
And yet it wasn’t.The plants and flowers,
Green and all colors…
Still they lacked
Something or another.The animals and creeping things
Of sky, land and sea…
Clever, cute, and coy,
Yet still incomplete.So Almighty He created him,
In Their image They created
Little hungry Adam…
Curious, cared for, but lonesome.All was good.
All was in place.
Still, all was made of mere dust,
Sand, mud, and paste.After creating all
And doing all to be done,
Almighty He realized He wasn’t done…He put little Adam to sleep,
Took some rib meat,
Polished and tweaked…Eve into the masterpiece.

[the golden gilded artwork is by Lorenzo Ghiberti]
*Inspired by the Book of Genesis and Christopher West’s Theology of the Body talks on the Feminine Genius
**Click here for the continuation of this poem.
Look into her eyes and tell me they just got their color and shape because of 7,000,000+ years of human evolution. Tell me her voice is just noise vibrating from vocal cords in her throat, and that her words communicate thoughts that are merely electrical charges passing from one neuron to the next.
own, share honeyed tea with her and overlook how her lips kiss the porcelain — it’s nothing but the animal need to satisfy thirst. In fact, it’s all just an animal need and an animal reaction. If she was struck dead by one of many cancers, or fatally stabbed through the blood-brain barrier, just go and find another female human to perpetuate the species. She was weak, sick, and too stupid to protect herself anyways… it would’ve been bad to have her pass her genes onto the next generation.
Unless… unless you love her like I do. Unless you see signs of God through her person – and by person I mean everything that is hers. Can you not realize that no chance process set her fingers so that they fit so warmly into yours? No toss up tuned her voice so that you can hear music call your name from even across busy streets. There’s no way she wasn’t thought up and nurtured by Love. Something – someone so beautiful and precious to you could never be merely a thing rolled out by an expanding universe of matter… she could only be a holy miracle.