8-10 "Open up, heavens, and rain.

Clouds, pour out buckets of my goodness!

Loosen up, earth, and bloom salvation;

sprout right living.

I, God, generate all this.

But doom to you who fight your Maker—

you’re a pot at odds with the potter!

Does clay talk back to the potter:

‘What are you doing? What clumsy fingers!’

Would a sperm say to a father,

‘Who gave you permission to use me to make a baby?’

Or a fetus to a mother,

‘Why have you cooped me up in this belly?’"