Tuesday, September 15, 2015

God's Not Dead

 My youngest son has a favorite song he is learning to play on the drums. He found out about it while watching a movie. In the show a  college freshman debates with one of his professor's about whether or not God was a philosophical idea invented by weak minds or if science supported the ideal of
creationists who believe in God. Arguments on both sides were interesting and held merit both for and against the idea of the reality of a higher being.
Perhaps because I've taught him his whole life that God is real, or perhaps because he is 10 and everything is black and white, he listened to the arguments and was convinced God is alive.
Granted, the movie's ending is meant to move watchers to believe God is an actual heavenly being. At 10 years old his thinking and analyzing capabilities are somewhat immature. His faith, on the other hand is light years beyond his tender age.
A few years back he asked me, "Mom how are stars made?"
I gave him my limited information about interstellar actions and the implosions of planets but he was still unsure. We watched a program on Discovery Channel where scientists went through how stars are born due to gravitational pull, implosion and the reality of their 'matter' becoming "space garbage" after such an experience. He looked at me, squeezed my hand and said, "That's where God got  the stuff to make earth."
The program went on to discuss black holes, the undefined reaches of space and galaxies beyond our own, but he was outside playing. It made sense to him and he had all he needed.
Every once in a while he'll ask me some deep, complex question about death, creation or what God looks like.
I do my best to answer him in terms he can relate to and he goes on to blow my mind with his simple factual faith.
He told me the other night he'd dreamed about dying. In his dream he walked across a green field until he stood in front of a very large, tall and smiling man dressed in such bright light he had to squint at him.
"Hello," the man said.
With a quick little wave of his hand he looked at the man and said, "HI God."
The man took his hand and showed him around, Let him play soccer and tousled his hair.
"I felt so good, Mom," he said.
"How did you know that was God," I asked him.
He shrugged his shoulders and smiled at me before patting my hand. "Oh mom. You just know."
I hope he's right. I plan, pray and work for a time when I stand before that man and call him by name. For the time when he takes my hand, shows me around and like my faithful little boy, I just know.

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