looking through me

What if each sunrise and sunset was a gift? What if each birdsong and flower petal was purposeless embellishment? What if clouds were ornamental? What if colors were perks? What if God intended them all to give pleasure?

Not to say they weren’t designed to be functional, but what if the beauty is as important as the function . . . or even more so? It’s hard to imagine God created for practicality and that aesthetics were merely the byproduct. It’s harder to imagine His declarations of goodness were based on successful configuration and not perfection in every dimension.

Couldn’t the water cycle be a massive piece of performance art? Couldn’t the earth’s orbit of the sun be an opportunity to feature the fracturing of light waves across the ultraviolet spectrum and not just an exercise in the division of day and night? Couldn’t the zebra’s stripes be for a toddler’s delight and not only for survival? Maybe the art came first, and the scientific infrastructure was built to showcase it.

The more I explore the hows and whys of the world, the more the intricacies and the beauty captivate me. Science gives shape and language to the mystery but never diminishes it. Investigating nature’s marvels increases my amazement—each answered question leads to new reverence. The complexities magnify the wonder of the Creator.

It doesn’t have to be this way. Rocks don’t have to shimmer and sparkle. Running water doesn’t have to sing. But it is this way. And it is good.