For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.
I suppose you could consider yourself largely responsible
for the way I would've turned out
had no one intervened.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your basic blueprint, plus a little medical tinkering.
Your works are wonderful,
My frame was not hidden from you
when I was woven together in the secret place.
After I was stitched up in the operating room,
your eyes saw my reformed body.
All the days ordained for me
were written in your book
before one of them came to be--
but I guess my parents tore out a few pages.
[Inspired by Jason Kuznicki. For those lacking the satire gene, Albert Mohler did not write this. He wrote something else.]