Time has always fascinated me. I spent a great deal of it over the years trying to figure out how, and more importantly where, time actually goes. I have resigned myself to the conclusion that time, like many other things in this life, is a mystery.
An even greater mystery is how we formulate questions that have no answers? That alone is reason enough for me to discount evolution as an explanation for this whole thing we call life.
When an object moves from one spot to the next, say a pen on a desk, where did the pen go that used to occupy the original spot? Experience tells me that the pen simply moved, but if I were able to re-wind time, say take a snapshot of time, the pen would be in the original spot, physically in that spot. Where do all the snapshots of the pen go? How can something be in one place at a specific point in time and yet be somewhere else a fraction later?
One theory is that matter is instantaneously assembling and nothing is “real” only assembled for a moment. As I understand the theory, the whole universe and everything in it is being created as we move through it and once we move past that point in time everything is dismantled instantaneously behind.
Interesting.
I like that idea as it helps explain the mechanics of faith and how things that seem impossible can be made possible in time. If we are constantly being re-written so to speak, it makes sense that the author can change us along the way. Trying to get my head around the rest of the theory makes my brain hurt, so I will be content with my questions for now, even though someday I would like an answer.
I like having answers and perhaps that is why writing interests me. Even though I am a poor wordsmith there is something elemental and satisfying about creating with words. To the best of my knowledge the string of words assembled above have never been arranged in that way before. The images, voices, emotion, and tone generated in my mind and the mind of the reader actually create something. Words become real, instantaneously having life breathed into them, as communication happens and you hear what I was thinking.
Very interesting.
To me, this is the essence of creativity. To take something that was a fragrance in my mind, breathe life into it, clothe it with meaning, and set it into a world only I see within is divine.
It is written that we are created in the image or likeness of God. My particular understanding of this scripture is that “His image” is not so much about arms and legs as it is the desire to create.
We get to father (and mother), like our heavenly Father.
Yesterday, my wife and I were talking with the kids about baby and pregnancy and wondering aloud if Emily would still have been Emily a month or year earlier or later in time. That, like time itself, is a mystery that can never be answered this side of eternity.
I do know that once she was conceived, Emily had always been Emily. We knew her immediately, like a character developed in a story and she is exactly like we imagined she would be.
She just fits in perfectly for this place and time and I can’t imagine my story without her, my wife, or her brother and sister in it.