93 Million Miles

A reflection on the wild miracles of existence

Have you ever stopped and wondered at the wildness of existence?

How the Sun, a roiling ocean of plasma and particles, something so large you can fit a million earths inside of it, is at the perfect distance from us to warm our cold and fragile skin, feed our fruit-bearing plants and give us light to see.

93 million miles away.
Let that settle in your mind.
My flashlight sometimes doesn't even light up my living room.

They say it was an accidental collision, a big bang.

But to me, it sounds similar to spilling alphabet cereal on the floor and expecting it to write out all of Shakespeare's plays. And yet... we're still having to correct AI chatbots when they spit out delusional error after error. 

Think what you will.
But deep down you know there are no mere accidents like this.
You can't blindly throw paint on a wall and get Rembrandt. 

What is the greater miracle? That all of this accidentally turned up one day and just happened to work out for us? Or that all of this is the work of an artist, a creator, a good and loving God?

What world do you want to live in?

One that reduces miracles to a mere coincidence?
One that says your greatest wonder is a cold chance?
Or one that sees beauty, truth and purpose in everything?

The sun is 93 million miles away. And right now it is flooding my living room with the glow of a new morning. I feel its warmth as it streaks through my windows, spraying a hundred small rainbows across the floor. 

This is all a miracle.
This is all wild.
This is all good.
This is the work of an artist.