Every morning I wake up, as my wife would say, early. She is an aficionado of sleep. But some mornings it is all I can do to keep from pulling her out of bed, pressing her face against the window, and exclaiming with more enthusiasm than a five year old on fruit loops, "Look, look, it did it again!" For there in the morning horizon, despite every impossibility, is the bright burning orb, the sun.
What are the odds, in all the universe, that this ball we live in, as it rotates around the sun, wouldn't get slightly off its axis, or a couple inches too close? Imagine, if that happened, and something as simple happened as all the spiders in the world dying. Then fly and mosquito populations skyrocket unhampered, disease runs rampant through not only cities, but the country. The food supply is destroyed. But that is the least of our worries, for why would the world only miss by a few inches?
What reason do we have, other than it hasn't happened yet, to believe the earth won't go careening one of these days into outer space, bouncing off the other planets like a pinball? This is the divine providence of a loving, personal God, that despite infinite and impossible odds, the universe is held in order. The sun, as it were , rises. The moon holds the tides and releases them. The gas in our cars continues to combust. Food continues to nourish, and our bodies continue to process it. Why? Because the cells all are working together? No, because God is daily, moment by moment, breathing the command that it be so.
I think this is the essence of poetry and beauty. The world, despite all inclinations to go wrong, goes right. We could end up anywhere, yet here we are, where we are supposed to be.
