Why Are There Monkeys? (and other questions for God) by Brooke Jones

Author:Brooke Jones
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Brooke Jones
Published: 2020-12-15T17:38:42+00:00

Chapter 9

Kiss My Ass or Miracles, Mets,

and Mules

Modern history is filled with stories of Miracle sightings—everything from pictures of the Virgin Mary on potato chips to statues crying real tears. In Biblical times, however, Miracles seemed more miraculous, what with stories involving the parting of a large body of water and the raising of the dead. Can any of these stories, modern or ancient, be believed?

What with all the laughing He’s doing, it feels like God is actually enjoying my company. That in and of itself seems miraculous to me, so it seems like the perfect time to bring up the subject of Miracles. He asks me to be more specific. Am I looking for the definition of a Miracle or an example of a Miracle? Considering the venue, I choose both.

“By definition,” He explains, “a Miracle is something that can happen only if I make it happen.”

Okay, definition of the word Miracle, covered, but now the real deal—an example of a Miracle. Just for fun, I request a Miracle that occurred during my lifetime, if one had occurred during my lifetime.

“Miracles happen every day,” He says.

“They do?”

“Of course they do. The birth of a child is a Miracle,” He says.

“It is? I thought childbirth was a natural process. A sperm meets an egg, and presto, nine months later, a baby is born. It just happens,” I say.

“Nothing just happens by itself,” He reminds me. “Have you never wondered how it is that millions of different cells can combine in just the right way and in just the right amounts? How something as basic as an egg can become something as complex as a human? Does that not seem miraculous to you?”

“Yes, of course it does,” I say, “but I thought You said that a Miracle was something that happened only if You made it happen. Are you saying that babies are born only because You make them be born?”

“I created the means by which all that is, is. I created the cells that produce babies, and I gave those cells to the human race. In a sense, it is true that children are born because of Me, but I only gave mankind the tools to enable the birth of a child. It is the human race that creates each child.”

As His words wash over me, He adds, “You would not credit the maker of paint with the creation of Michelangelo’s painting on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, would you?” I’ve never been to Italy, but I’ve seen photographs of the magnificent chapel ceiling. It certainly looks miraculous, and I doubt that anyone would credit the inventors of paint with that miraculous work of art. Suddenly my art appreciation reverie is interrupted.

“Think of a newborn baby as a beautiful loaf of bread,” God urges. “I provide the ingredients, but it is the bakers who actually create the bread.”

“Humans are the bakers, yes?”

“Yes,” He says.

Well, all right. That makes sense to me, but it isn’t the type of Miracle I’m looking for.

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