A cup of dirt my 4-year-old brought home from “Garden Club” sits on my kitchen window sill.
The transparent plastic gives all in the house a crystal clear view to this small sample of earth.
Three tablespoons of water a week, that’s what this cup of dirt needs.
Just three tablespoons of water poured onto dirt and absolute magic unfolds.
Three tablespoons of water into some dirt. Included is a bulb, invisible to the eye while nestled into dirt’s darkness.
A bulb. A seed. Like the acorn you kick down the street. Like one of millions of maple helicopters that descend from the sky.
Like the peanut you eat.
Like the beans and the rice that keep the world alive.
Seeds that make more seeds that you can plant and eat again.
Seeds that look like tiny rocks, yet turn into redwoods and sequoias.
Over the course of weeks some small white strings appear at the bottom of our dirt cup. Roots.
More and more and more roots. Like a jellyfish. Like a mop. Like the overgrown bangs of a shaggy dog.
Where did these come from daddy? How did these appear…from a cup of dirt?
Three tablespoons of water a week.
Green.
There’s green coming up from our dirt!
It’s getting longer and larger and sturdier.
The green stem of a flower. Pushing its way out of dirt and toward the sky.
Where did this come from daddy? How did this appear…from a cup of dirt?
There is only one answer to these questions. And it’s such a simple answer. An obvious answer. A joyful answer.
I recently watched the fictional movie Martian about a very factual truth: you cannot live on Mars. You cannot breathe its air, you cannot persuade its dirt to give you food. You cannot put three tablespoons of water on a seed and witness root and stem burst forth from nothing.
In fact, there is nowhere else in the universe you can do these things, except on Earth.
Earth. A land filled with jellyfish and beans and 4-year-old girls. A land filled with sunsets and elephants and microorganisms.
Where did earth come from daddy? Why are all of these amazing things here?
There is only one answer to these questions. And it’s such a simple answer. An obvious answer. A joyful answer.
It all came from God, sweetheart.
This magic is not random. Even a 4-year-old can see that. Roots and stems are not supposed to shoot out from dirt when you pour three tablespoons of water on them. Just go to Mars and find out for yourself.
Oh the blindness of adulthood. The foolishness. Oh to go so fast, so frantically that we become so filled with ourselves. We believe we are the center of all things and because we can explain how something works, it somehow means we are supreme.
The fact that the One who is Supreme gave us the privilege of mental capacity to understand some of how the nuts and bolts work in all He has made does not mean that we have unseated the One who is Supreme. Even a 4-year-old can see that.
Where did these come from daddy? How did these appear…from a cup of dirt?
Science, sweetheart. They came from science.
What’s science daddy?
Science is the understanding of how things work, sweetheart.
Oh daddy, I didn’t ask about understanding how the roots and stem grow. I asked where they came from. I don’t want to know how it works. I want to know how it is possible. I want an explanation of this beauty. Of this magic.
Well sweetheart, there’s no magic in science. Everything can be explained.
But daddy, I don’t care how it can be explained. I want to know how it’s possible. If explaining something takes away the magic, if it takes away the ability to ask the question of how it’s possible, then why would we ever want to explain anything at all? Why would we want to lose on the joy and beauty and wonder that happens when you put three tablespoons of water into dirt? What do you get out of explaining something, because it sure seems like you are losing much more than you are gaining.
Oh honey, you’ll understand someday. When you’re an adult, you’ll have lost all sense of joy and beauty and wonder too. But it’s okay, because you’ll be able to explain things. You won’t be able to explain how something is possible, but you can explain how it works. And that counts for something. In fact, that counts for everything. That’s what humans are. That’s what we’re here for. To explain things. Then we can be supreme. The supreme is the one who can explain things. Being supreme is the best.
But daddy, if that’s being supreme, I don’t think I want it. It doesn’t sound like being an adult is all that great. You think you know everything, but it sounds to me more like you don’t know anything. At least not the important stuff. What’s the point of explaining something if you haven’t actually explained the important parts? You can use big words and tell me why the roots and stem grow when water is put on this dirt, but you haven’t actually explained how that amazing miracle is possible. Come here daddy.
Um, okay. Yes, what is it sweetheart?
Look up at all those stars.
Ok.
How many stars are there daddy?
I don’t know honey. I am missing my favorite TV show though, couldn’t we go inside and talk about this later?
I think those stars are magical.
Well I think TV is magical.
You’re silly daddy. TV isn’t magical. You and mommy tell me bedtime stories but I know they’re just stories. But when I look at my cup of dirt and when I look at the stars, I see that we are actually in a story! A magical story. A story with stars and dirt and families and love.
All of that can be explained, honey. It’s all just synapses firing in your brain and hydrogen and oxygen and carbon and gravity. It can all be explained. You’re only 4.
Science is great. But when did solving a math problem become proof that no one could have masterfully constructed the rules for math? When did reading sheet music become proof that no one created music?
I can read sheet music, therefore it is impossible that anyone could have created the audible notes and their infinite combinations. I can read sheet music, so music must be random.
Music is magic, daddy.
No it’s not sweetheart, it can be explained. We can read the sheet music. You’ll understand someday.
When did knowledge of things blind us to the very things themselves? The things that scream at the top of their lungs that God is real and he is supreme and he created all. That his fingerprints are everywhere.
And if billions of stars are possible, eternity is possible.
That our few decades on this floating rock will be gone before we know it and we’ll stand before this Supreme Creator and have to give an account for ourselves.
And we know we are sunk. We know it.
But we drive faster and explain more things and watch more TV.
But could it be that One so powerful as to create the billions of stars and create dirt that grows roots and stems with only three tablespoons of water could also be powerful enough, and possibly loving enough, to provide salvation from the sinking ship we are on?
The sinking ship of all the things we’ve done wrong. Done wrong against this yes loving One, but also holy and supreme One.
That He might love us so much not to give up on us but to actually come and rescue us? To provide forgiveness so we can be with Him for eternity?
Oh, that’s just too magical to believe. We can’t explain that.
We can believe in billions of stars and in pouring three tablespoons of water onto dirt. We can believe in this earth but no, we can’t believe that there’s anything else?
Um, why not?
You can believe in this earth. And in billions of stars. But you can’t believe that someone who made all of this already could also exist in eternity? That there’s Someone who is bigger than a few decades of oxygen breathing? That death actually can be solved? That death can be fixed? That one could create life, but not eternal life? As if death got him trumped.
His fingerprints are everywhere.
They are shouting at you.
They are wooing you.
They are pleading with you.
But what about the Bible? What about all the bad things that happen? What about all the different religions? What about…?
What about nothing?
What about removing all of your excuses and stop trying to play courtroom with God. To stop trying to present your defense and your verdict as if you have cosmic authority and instead to open up your eyes.
You can really explain all of this with your science book? With your big and impressive brain? Because you know how to read sheet music?
What about a God who is a living God, who can defend himself on his own, and he’s trying to get you to see him? He wants to introduce himself to you.
He’s made it plain.
You put three tablespoons of water on dirt and roots and stems appear from nothing.
Who cares if you can explain it? How is it possible? That answer is so beautiful and joyful and wonderful.
And obvious.
You just have to open your eyes.
He is:
Author of Beyond the Battle: A man's guide to his identity in Christ in an oversexualized world
Host of the The Flip Side Podcast
Join an online men's small group led by Noah and team at BeyondTheBattle.net
This is the joy of our faith. I’m afraid theology often robs us of joy in a similar way.
Hi Brett. While I do think we can end up worshiping theology / doctrine in some streams — to the point that a relational Jesus is almost irrelevant — be careful not to swing too far the other direction either. Theology and doctrine, a.k.a. what we believe, is important because God has revealed it to us, so we will be accountable for that. We have the keep theology as a way of getting to know God deeper and truer, rather than something that replaces him.