Have you ever traveled to where snow is made,
      seen the vault where hail is stockpiled,
The arsenals of hail and snow that I keep in readiness
     for times of trouble and battle and war?
Can you find your way to where lightning is launched,
     or to the place from which the wind blows?
Who do you suppose carves canyons
     for the downpours of rain, and charts
     the route of thunderstorms
That bring water to unvisited fields,
     deserts no one ever lays eyes om
Drenching the useless wastelands
     so they’re carpeted with wildflowers and grass?
And who do you think is the father of rain and dew,
     the mother of ice and frost?
You don’t for a minute imagine
     these marvels of weather just happen, do you?

Job 38:21-30
from The Message

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