When I started questioning the existence of God in my youth, I found comfort in creation. I still do. The beauty, the complexity, the order sewn in the midst of disorder argue strongly for the reality of a Creator.
Sunday morning the moon led me on my drive to work. She was fat and full, hanging just above the horizon. I live four miles due east of the church building; my route runs west in straight lines. There she was, playing peek-a-boo behind scudding clouds. She seemed closer and larger than usual. I could easily make out lunar terrain. The air was perfectly clear and still. Dawn had just risen, the faintest of pink light behind me. But the western sky was still cobalt. The moon's sharp white was indescribably beautiful against that backdrop.
I thought of the perfect mechanics of lunar motion. The moon's rotation is so perfectly in tune with her orbit she always shows exactly the same face toward earth—and, according to calculations that go back to the Greek classical period some 2,400 years ago, she always has. As with earth, every square millimeter of the moon sees light on a regular schedule, with an always-shifting fifty percent of its surface light, fifty percent dark. The phases we see result from the interplay of angles between sun, moon and earth. I see God in all of this. I cannot imagine it as the result of random chance.
That afternoon our family all gathered in our home. The stars of that show, of course, were our grandchildren. Newly three year-old Theo buzzed around, playing with toys saved from his mother and uncle's childhood, some of them made by my father, and asking how to spell everything. Sister Rory, five months old two days before, loves sitting on laps, watching big brother and smiling every time an adult smiles into her face. She is even more beautiful than the moon.
I purposely maneuvered to see my mom's face as our son pushed her wheelchair toward her first in-person meeting with her great-granddaughter. The light broke out on mom's face. She beamed. Tears fell out of her eyes. She was happy. “Ohhhhh!” she said, “Would you just look at her? She's so pretty!” (Fact check: this is a true statement.)
Live long enough and we all acquire scars. My mom has lost so terribly much the past decade-plus. We know she grieves inside, and can get terribly frustrated at her diminished powers of communication. But she has born it all with dignity. She and her great-granddaughter have become for me another testimony of the existence of God. She has kept her faith (though she often tells me, “You know, I'm still mad at God for taking your father.”).
But that moment. That instant when she fell instantly and deeply in love with another human being descended from herself. I see God in that. I cannot imagine it as the result of random chance.
I am grateful for such testimony. I wish that all could have the “eyes to see” Jesus talked about. I thank him that I do.
