when i sincerely pray for something, and it absolutely does not come true, i begin to ask myself, ‘are we just fooling ourselves?’

I have two options at that point.  I can say, ‘God must not be real,’ or i can say ‘God must not work in the ways i expect him to work.’

When I watch the breathtaking machine that is a firefly at dusk, or recognize the golden spiral in a chambered nautilus, or glimpse the harmony with which the intricate systems in our bodies play together, i tend to lean towards the latter option; His ways are more mysterious than mine.

And those things remind me that the god in my head is still much smaller than the real God that is writing a mysterious story with his creation.  I take joy in that.  After all, aren’t the best stories the ones that have perfectly fitting endings that we never even saw coming?

November 20th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Subscribe to comments | Both comments and pings are currently closed