The lie entwines with half-truths:
it pleases the eye, and wisdom seems good,
yet that which seems deceives, tears apart at the seams
the fine-woven fabric of image and praise.
Who are we? Like God, yet when
we grasp at fruit to be like God,
the image dies; the garden turns to dustbowl.
O what have we done, what become?
Grace rearranges, but grace demands
no hubris, no self. Leave haughty chins at the gate.
Raise heads, but only to trust;
raise hands, but only to pray and praise.
Surely you will be like God; yes, and only when,
like God, you know yourself in Him alone;
only when, in perfect alignment with Father,
you lose all face to win a kingdom.
The Consolations of Writing 