creation

Yesterday during Sunday School we discussed the Creation.  It always boggles my mind that scientists who deal day in and day out with the creations of our Heavenly Father fail so often to see His hand in it. The idea that God’s handiwork is simply a byproduct of a huge cosmic explosion and that we humans evolved from primordial soup makes me chuckle.

But then, I’m sure that my faith in a supreme being elicits a similar reaction from them.

In class, we watched this video and discussed the three accounts of the Creation to better understand whose work it was, what was done and why it was necessary.  One point that really hit home to me during this particular discussion was that God did not simply wave a magic wand to create the cosmos.  Matter existed in the first place.  Matter that needed only to be organized in a fashion that would fulfill God’s purposes to bless His children.

Now where that matter originated and who “created” it in the first place is a question to which I have no answer.  Still, I got hung up on the word “organize”.

You see, as a homemaker this makes perfect sense to me.  The idea that homes don’t create themselves.  They don’t just “happen”.  They take work, just as the home created by our Heavenly Father (the earth we live on, among other things) took work.

I’m always telling my kids: “We don’t live in a self-cleaning house.”  Or, “those socks aren’t going to pick themselves up”.  Entropy is real in my home.  Not only that, it’s a scientific principle.

All things will gradually descend into a state of disorder.  Unless.  Unless there is work.  Work performed by One who loves us enough to give us life and purpose despite our failure to recognize His hand in it all.

Just as my kids will never acknowledge the massive amounts of dirty socks I’ve picked up over the years.  Not that that even comes close but, well, you get the point.  Entropy is inevitable without someone to do the work.

Why are we so quick to buy into the idea that the magnificence of our earth, with all its beauty and order, its precise location in the solar system, its ability to sustain life for billions of people (and billions more creatures) is just dumb luck?

All things denote that there is a God.  Every time I see a magnificent sunrise, or listen to gentle raindrops of a long-awaited high desert rainstorm I feel like God is sending me little love notes.  Like He’s reminding me that His hand is over all, that He loves and watches over His children, just as I do mine.

I’m grateful for my faith.  For the underlying understanding that life on earth is simply an opportunity to prove ourselves.  I’m grateful to know who I am, a daughter of Heavenly parents, who love me and give me ample reminders of that love in the world that surrounds me.  It is glorious.  Life is glorious.