Stuff I Don't Get

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It’s easy to make a long list of stuff I can’t get through my thick skull. I can’t seem to grasp football rules. My eyes still glaze over when my husband starts explaining financial investing. I don’t get how someone ever decided eating oysters was a good plan. Were they starving to death? I still haven’t figured out who let the dogs out. How is it that, if every cell in our bodies regenerates every seven years, our bodies still deteriorate with age? What does IDK stand for, anyway? Nobody seems to know. Also, I can’t tell you how to get to Sesame Street.

That’s just a warmup.

The biggest thing I don’t get, though, has to do with how we all got here. And by “here,” I mean here, on this planet. A lot of people don’t believe they have a creator and I want to respect their opinion. But man, it’s hard. I’ve had evolution explained to me. I just don’t think I could ever muster the level of faith required to accept it.

The room I sit in as I write these words is filled with things. I can look around the room and see each item and I know it was made by someone—some highly intelligent, creative human. The books, the furniture, the photos, the lamp, the walls themselves—all designed and assembled by someone. I can’t fathom the hours involved in the invention of each individual item in this room, let alone add up all those hours.

Our world abounds with marvelous man-made creations. I don’t think anyone would argue with that point. I ask myself what is the most complicated item in this room? My sewing machine? My piano? My computer? Oh, surely, it’s my computer!

But wait. I’m in the room, too. And I’m kind of complicated. How can I believe I wasn’t created? I suppose one could argue that my creator is far more complicated still, yet I accept that HE doesn’t have a creator. So where did my creator come from? To say “He is eternal” sounds like a pat answer. How could someone have no beginning?

Well, I guess if I knew the answer to that, I could figure out football by now too. If my puny human mind can’t comprehend the size of our universe, how could it ever hope to understand the creator of said universe?

That’s where faith comes in.

As I see it, you will always be the most complicated thing in any room you enter. So—if all those less complicated things required a creator, how come you did not? If anyone wants to enlighten me, I’m open to your explanation. But I’ll warn you—whoever designed my skull made it good and thick.

Great Minds...

My kids may want to shoot me for yet again turning every insignificant incident into a blog post, but here I go anyway.

For Christmas, I made a not-very-subtle wish for candles. Specifically, three-wick candles from Bath and Body Works. Burning them in my home office while I write in the pre-sunrise hours before it’s time to go to my regular job is often the best part of my day. Nothing like a cup of steaming coffee with my favorite hazelnut creamer, the quiet of early morning, and the warm glow of a scented candle to remind me of something important. You see, for me, the candle represents a spiritual truth: God’s triune presence with me, helping me as we work together. As I light the three wicks, I ask him to fill the room with his Spirit, to infuse my writing with his light and fragrance and warmth. To somehow ignite a spark in a reader’s heart through the words I type.

Well, maybe that’s a tad lofty. But I pray for it anyway. And so, I asked my family for more candles for Christmas. “The kind that smell like something yummy is baking,” I said, since I rarely bake any more. Writing is more lucrative and less fattening.

Hubby toed the line by giving me three candles in three different scents from the specified store. Not exactly cookie dough or banana bread scents, but very pleasant fragrances nonetheless: Midnight Blue Citrus, Winter, and Goal Digger. These will keep me typing for months, leaving no excuse for not writing.

Then we drove all the way to our daughter’s house in Calgary to spend Christmas with her family. By December 29, the remainder of the family had arrived from Manitoba, some by plane and some on wheels. It was our first time all together in ages, and the first time ever for our newest member. Thirteen of us under one roof created delightful chaos, especially when it came time to open gifts.

When dear old mom’s turn came, we enjoyed a good laugh. Two of our three offspring had been thinking similar thoughts. While desiring to honor my request for candles, neither of them wanted to risk buying the same scented candle as anyone else. So they didn’t shop at Bath and Body Works. To ensure their gift would be unique, they each picked a different store, one in Calgary and one in Winnipeg.

The result? Two identical 3-wick Mercury candles in the same Mulled Cider and Cinnamon scent from Indigo. From two different people who, it turns out, might think more alike than they want to admit.

For the record, “Great minds think alike” is not from the Bible. But I’m glad God gave my kids great minds. And the matching candles look (and smell) terrific side by side on our dining table…at least until it’s time for each of them to take their turn at my writing desk.