We were driving a hilly section of North Georgia on a winding backroad between small Southern towns, the kind with steepled churches, brick town halls on green grass-carpeted squares, and railroad tracks running right down the middle of Main Street between diagonal parking on either side of the road. Away from the towns farmland tufted with white cotton bolls, metals barns housing lumberyards, and firewood stands with cords stacked for sale were nestled among single wide and double wide trailers, old frame farmhouses and the occasional red brick ranch style home of the younger generation.
Then we passed a deserted house. You can always tell. The paint is peeling, the gutters are full of leaves, and the naked windows stare out at you, no light of life within them. A house left to itself always deteriorates far more quickly than one that is lived in.
And the yard? Weedy, strewn with wind-blown trash, gardens filled with dried up flower heads or bolted vegetables, everything withered from lack of care. A garden left to itself always goes to seed.
So how did some primordial soup produce even one cell of life where there was none before, and how did that cell evolve into something more and more complex, and finally become an intelligent creature conscious of its own existence and that of others outside itself, able to reason, to create, and to appreciate art of all kinds, and strategize plots of great complexity?
Until someone can show me a vacant house that keeps itself clean and void of rot, and a garden that never needs weeding or watering, I just won’t believe it. I may not be the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but God made me smart enough to see through that one.
For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who by their unrighteousness suppress the truth. For what can be known about God is plain to them, because God has shown it to them. For his invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made. So they are without excuse. For although they knew God, they did not honor him as God or give thanks to him, but they became futile in their thinking, and their foolish hearts were darkened. Claiming to be wise, they became fools, Rom 1:18-22.
Dene Ward
Then we passed a deserted house. You can always tell. The paint is peeling, the gutters are full of leaves, and the naked windows stare out at you, no light of life within them. A house left to itself always deteriorates far more quickly than one that is lived in.
And the yard? Weedy, strewn with wind-blown trash, gardens filled with dried up flower heads or bolted vegetables, everything withered from lack of care. A garden left to itself always goes to seed.
So how did some primordial soup produce even one cell of life where there was none before, and how did that cell evolve into something more and more complex, and finally become an intelligent creature conscious of its own existence and that of others outside itself, able to reason, to create, and to appreciate art of all kinds, and strategize plots of great complexity?
Until someone can show me a vacant house that keeps itself clean and void of rot, and a garden that never needs weeding or watering, I just won’t believe it. I may not be the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but God made me smart enough to see through that one.
For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who by their unrighteousness suppress the truth. For what can be known about God is plain to them, because God has shown it to them. For his invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made. So they are without excuse. For although they knew God, they did not honor him as God or give thanks to him, but they became futile in their thinking, and their foolish hearts were darkened. Claiming to be wise, they became fools, Rom 1:18-22.
Dene Ward
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