Work of art

He pricked me with a needle
Of course I cried and screamed
I wailed and whined and kicked and bucked
But He just watched on calmly

Once I'd settled down again
Once again the needle He did apply
And what do you think I did again?
Well I think I poked Him in the eye

Each day He worked to mend me
Each day I fought Him anew
Each day He grew more determined
Each day I resisted too

In old age I grew weaker
But His strength never declined
He of course won more often
And I simply resigned

Over the course of my life I've felt Him
Giving me little pricks
Some hurt more than others
Some needles pricks were sticks!

Yet in the end He pulled me to Him
And revealed to me as I sat upon His knee
That I don't always know best
He knew what He was doing to me

And when He flipped my life over
And laid the finished product in His hand
I could only stare in awe
As He murmured "I had a bigger plan."

Now I saw my thrashing had only marred it
And my stubborness given it holes
Surely He hadn't needed that many knots
Nor intended the colors to be so dull

The material was stretched some places
Places I knew they should have torn
I knew He'd stopped that from happening
And all I'd ever afforded Him for it was scorn

I thought I had it all together
And everything was going fine
I'd always thought that I knew best
After all the life was mine

What right had He to touch it?
To try to guide my hand to place a stitch?
Who made Him my creator?
How dare He call for a switch!

Certainly I was not to give up control
Heaven forbid it was done well
No I had to do things my way
Toot my horn and ring my bell

Show off all my imperfections
Instead of letting them be fixed
A little snip here, another tuck there
Throw a new color in the mix

I dare gaze up at my father
A smile He chose to send
Along with the comforting thought of
It all turned out right in the end