We call it the Word of God
but it was written with human ink
hands shaking, hearts breaking,
prophets waking in the middle of the night
trying to translate thunder.
We forget that God didn’t write on paper
God wrote on people.
And people wrote on scrolls.
And scrolls wore out,
and scribes copied them,
and somehow the fire stayed lit.
Maybe the holiness isn’t in the perfection
but in the partnership
the God who speaks
and the humans who try
to catch the echo
before it fades.