Written by Randy Alcorn, April 3, 1979, the day of his daughter's birth.
Whose name means “gift;”
Gift of God,
Channel of His grace,
Vessel of His love.
Child of clay,
Offspring of dust;
Daughter of Eve,
Seed of God's breath.
Spawned in the sea of your Creator's consciousness,
Conceived in His mind from eternity past,
Woven in the Artisan's loom,
Spun by the Potter, molded in His hands.
As different from all others as each snowflake is unique;
Carbon copy of none;
Marked by your Locksmith, “Do not duplicate.”
You are so much more than this world sees.
No aimless product of time and chance and natural forces;
Destined to be ruler of beasts, not descendent of them;
Climax of His creative genius: the Magnum Opus of God.
So much more than a billion cells of purposeless matter;
Than meaningless miles of DNA;
Than an arbitrary blend of twenty-six chromosomes,
Inherited from your parents.
As the simple watch must have a watchmaker,
So the complex being that is you must have a Creator;
An Author of your genetic code;
A draftsman, architect, and builder of your soul.
A God so big that the cosmos cannot contain Him,
So small that He too once slept in a mother's arms.
One day you will know that awesome mystery:
The infant born in a barn was Creator of the universe.
Bearer of God's image, made in His likeness;
Object of His love,
Carved on His palm;
Apple of His eye.
More beautiful than Saturn's rings,
More delicate than Lyra's veil,
More awesome than Orion's cloud,
Nestled in His mighty sword.
Your worth exceeds that of the celestial wonders;
It is not they who are made in His image.
It was not one of them that He became.
Never for their kind was divine blood shed.
So different from the fleeting world that surrounds you;
Possessor of an eternal soul,
A spirit that will never die;
Heir of everlasting life.
When the stars collapse,
And the solar systems breath their last,
And the galaxies crumble with age,
You will still be young.
So helpless as you lie there;
So vulnerable, susceptible to harm;
So frail and weak, dependent on your parents;
So unsuspecting of the ugliness that lies
Beyond the doors of your protective shelter.
A sin-stained world, no longer Eden's paradise;
Torn and disfigured, marred by human will;
Testimony to man's indifference to his God.
Tombstone on the grave of human sin.
What hope do you have here?
What right did your parents have to bring you into such a world?
But, still, this world is God's;
His fingerprints are everywhere.
True, the world is dark.
Dark as blackest night;
Penetrated by the Lord of Darkness,
Held within His evil grasp.
But dark, Karina, that your light might brighter shine.
That straining eyes might sooner turn toward your unfading radiance.
Answer to our prayers,
Fulfiller of our dreams.
You are God's gift to us;
We give you back to Him.
Ours to hold,
To care for;
But only His to possess.
Our prayer: that you might know Him;
Become His living temple,
Receptacle of His glory,
Dwelling place of His shekinah.
Possessed by God,
Controlled by Christ,
That on your tiny shoulders might be borne
The reputation of the Creator's Son.
Like a prism reveals
The manifold excellence of light,
May you project to a tarnished world
The multifaceted beauty of your Creator.
Our prayer, Karina,
Daughter of God:
That when eyes of men and angels gaze upon you,
They might always and only see Him.
Dad and Mom