Make

When a man makes a thing, he starts at the beginning and works his way forward. If he wishes to have a seat, he must first cut down a tree, carve it into pieces, and finally craft a chair. Only then may he sit himself down. Or if he wants light, he must mine metals and minerals, then fashion a bulb and batteries, mold a switch and housing, and finally assemble the whole thing into a flashlight. Only then may he flip the switch to make light. As creator, a man is bound to an order, a sequence of events, where one thing leads to another, before he can have what he wants. He can't help but imagine making in this way.

When God makes a thing, He faces no such bounds. He makes things backwards. If He wishes to have a seat, then He sits! Only later does He make the trees for wood and the water which feeds them, and indeed the world from which they grew. Or if He wants light, He neither mines, molds, nor assembles. If light is the thing He wants, He simply makes it! Only then does He make the means for it: sun, moon, and stars. He makes first the sitting, then the seat. He makes first the light, then the luminary. He makes the thing, then backs into its stuff. He makes entirely differently than a man, for He makes out of nothing.