I'm so glad you guys continued the convo without me. When I come back and find four or five comments it's as if I've been forced to listen without contributing my own thoughts, and we all could use a healthy dose of that, right?
I've had many grand-scaled opportunities to find faith: friends, a loving husband, the Rocky Mountains, the enormity of history and the expanse of the great blue sea, and writings--my own and expecially those of others. I have seen an airplane fall from the sky, in person. I watched the second Tower fall, live. I have seen Billie Joe control an audience with a flick of a finger. I saw my babies' faces right after they were born and I've seen people put themselves out there in beautiful, sometimes tragic ways. In one of life's significant coincidences, two lakes named Grand have become important to me in my life, one a sprawling blue bathtub in Oklahoma and the other a more intimate, mountain-ringed, icy depth in Colorado.
But I find my faith in the oddest, teensy places. For instance, I have my Grannie's hands. Same size and shape and color, right down to the fingernails. I'm proud that I carry a part of her where ever I go. I loved her in life, I love my memories of her now. This physical trait we share can be explained away by simple genetics, but it's what science can't explain that is important to me. Why do I care? Science could never come up with a gracefully plausible reason. It would take a thousand words to explain how my synapses fire and my psychological dependancy upon family. Or I could say, simply, I would not care, but for the grace of God.
There were no obviously apparent answers at the lake this time, and I came home with a raging head cold. But I do think I came back with a little better attitude and a sense of the importance about what we all share. Like it or not, we're bound by our similarities, one of which is often faith. Let's just hope they can someday save us from ourselves, eh?
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