Handful of dust

I know God is the Creator of all
and I am but a handful of dust.
So why did He create me?

The Heavens above --
the dust and the Earth below.

A storm appears on the horizon.
The sky cracks with a blinding light
and the heavens rumble.

Soon a fast rain drenches me,
soaking through, turning me to mud.
It pours and pours.
The rivers flow.

After the storm passes
and many days go by,
tender shoots appear from
my dusty soil.

They reach up toward Heaven,
turning to the Light.
Soon I am tall and proud --
and covered with thorns.

Just as I fear I might have no use,
it happens:
the purpose of this cycle:

With the coming of the Rose
and the appearance of Beauty

I understand now,
Why He is the Creator
and I, this handful of dust.