John 14:2 In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?

Sometimes I like to think about Heaven. Because I really don’t know what it will be like there, I imagine it in a way that I would really love. First of all, there would be grand adventures. Like the Hobbit. Or like Star Wars, maybe. God would handpick me travel to other parts of His creation, and I would be equipped with the power of healing and I would have a little dagger in my boot and… OK, so maybe my view of Heaven is a LITTLE skewed by my current circumstances (and a little too much fiction). Still, while God gave me a good imagination, the things that thrill me are only things I can somewhat relate to. So, I will continue in this vein of my view of Heaven.

In my view of Heaven no one would go hungry. And there would be magnificent feasts. And you could have any food that you truly love. And unlike on Earth, you wouldn’t become easily discontent. Like tonight, I had a cheeseburger and then I thought I wanted a candy bar, too. I wasn’t even hungry anymore but I thought I wanted one. In Heaven, you’d already be content so you wouldn’t even think about needing the candy bar. But, of course, there still would be candy bars.

I would also probably have a flying horse or two. Who wouldn’t? And a faithful dog and a reasonable cat. Maybe even a panther or something. And since it’s Heaven, he wouldn’t want to eat me or anything.

I like to think that I will have a specific purpose in Heaven. I don’t like to be idle, so I hope God has a plan for each of us. I don’t really buy the harp-on-the-cloud-image that someone came up with.

Another thing is, I would be able to read in Heaven. I think there would be so many incredible things to read in Heaven. Maybe there will be books on Creation from Heaven’s perspective. Or there could be truths to Science that were never discovered by humans. There would also be tales of martyrs, angels and of Jesus coming to Earth. I think there might be an angel keeping track of everything that has ever happened. That would be worth reading.

Better than anything mentioned yet, would be the chance to see all of the people I met in life. It would be such a wonderful reunion. I am sure that there will be crying. Grand happy tears of FINALLY understanding and loving each other without sin getting in the way. And I would sit with them for decades and ask them what life was like for them, and ask them what it was like to see their faith come to fruition. And then I would ask them what they felt like when they finally heard the words, “Well done, my good and faithful servant.” We would also discuss God’s endless grace. How many times He forgave us. How foolish we once were, and how easily blinded we were in every single moment of our stupid little lives. But, we will rejoice in that, because God, in his love, extended mercy where our meager attempts didn’t add up. We will really be full of gratitude, but not full of guilt.

And the best part of all. The VERY best part of ALL, will be that we will be in the presence of God. Where faith gives way to seeing, and a long arduous journey brings us to a good end. And we will no longer be tempted to sin, but can live in perfect communion with the One we love the most. This part is so much bigger than I am, so much grander than anything I can imagine, that I really can’t find the words to describe it. But, that would definitely be the very best part of all.

I will entitle this blog post: “Why I like the flawed characters.” Or “How I relate to annoying characters.”

Exhibit A: Emma Woodhouse from, of course, Emma. (Jane Austen)

                       Emma is completely covered in imperfections. She’s judgmental, conceited, and a classist.

Exhibit B: Taran: The Assistant Pig Keeper from, The Prydain Chronicles. (Lloyd Alexander)

                        Let’s be honest. At times Taran was downright annoying. I mean come ON. Grow up already! He wasn’t even my favorite character, and yet, I wanted him to succeed. And, I was not only intrigued by his story, I was also reluctantly empathetic (notice I did not say sympathetic).

Exhibit C: Rachel Berry from Glee. (Fox)

                        Annoying, right? They even describe her that way in the show. She’s selfish, self-important, intense, and is also ironically, insecure. She is easily blinded by her desires and pursuit of fame. But, despite these obvious flaws, she is my favorite character on the show, and easily the one I relate to the most. (This synopsis is centered only on the first two seasons of Glee because I have Netflix and can only watch the seasons after-the-fact.)

                      

                         I considered including Rudolph and the Misfits from Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer, but Rudolph really doesn’t apply to this. His character is a shining example throughout the whole story. While I love a good underdog misfit story (and relate to them as well), I’m focusing on the characters that are far from perfect in regards to their personality.

                        So what makes me relate to Emma? Why is she my favorite of Austen’s heroines? Elizabeth Bennett is easily more likeable. In fact, I think she is generally rated the most liked of the women. And who wouldn’t want to be like her? She’s noble and upright, true to herself, and bold. (She’s also willing to go against social norms, which could be considered a fault in her time period, but is hailed as a great attribute in the 21^st century). If you think about it, Elizabeth has very few faults and she pretty much always makes the right decision.  I think that’s probably why I relate to Emma more. Being flawed myself, it’s comforting reading about someone who begins overcoming her faults. Also, she is able to find love despite and because of her imperfections. That was a comfort to (pre-married) me who had doubts about that concept.

                        Taran the Wanderer. He was pretty much the ideal coming-of-age character set in a fantasy/myth series. When I was a kid and read these books, I appreciated that he wasn’t like most fantasy novel heroes: perfect in every way eveb if they lacked experience; perfectly noble, heroic, loving and selfless. Taran longed for recognition. He wanted to be considered a hero but was instead in charge of a rogue pig. He was taught through humility to be a real hero, but it took pretty much the whole series for him to reach that point. Coming-of-age stories are still very close to my heart. I’m not sure if it’s because I never fully grew up, or because no one really stops “coming of age.” At any rate, I could envision myself in his position. Yearning for something greater in life, yet being stuck chasing an ungrateful pig. Fortunately for him there was much more happening than he realized. Still, I easily felt like that when I was a kid (even now when I am changing diaper after diaper after…)

                        And why, may you ask, do I like Rachel Berry? On my first run through of Glee I liked her, but often found it painful to watch her be selfish or fail socially because of her own conceit. I watched the second season and began on the first again, and I have to say, she really is my favorite character. This time watching it, I am downright proud of her when she makes the right decision. For instance, when she allows someone else to have the spotlight I give a little sigh of relief (this is of course incredibly difficult for her given her personality). She has big dreams, but she is also very insecure. I think that I can often be this way. Half fully driven, half my biggest enemy. In high school I never considered myself one of the “pretty girls” (which was probably true, and didn’t help that I was too shy to talk to anyone). Rachel portrays this insecurity to a fault. She assumes she is less than Quinn and the other Cheeri-os in regards to looks, and everything that goes with that. She has jealousy issues and with this mindset does some pretty tasteless things. Yet, she truly does try to become a better person and her growth is palpable through the series. Even her relationship with Finn becomes more real and based on her love for him, not just for herself (though she does many unlikable things through this process as well).

            Although these characters can often cause me frustration and second-hand embarrassment, I love them. I love that they aren’t held back by their own misgivings, and that they even make attempts to grow past them. I love that their weaknesses can be turned into their strengths, and I love that they are always pushing forward with refined tenacity.

1 Peter 1:6-7

In all this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. 7 These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.

                        

When I was born I was so surprised I didn't talk for a year and a half.

It was 4 o’clock in the afternoon and I was sitting on the floor minding my own business. I was just paying the bills. I had one bill left when I noticed it. Nothing I had ever felt before, naturally, but it came none-the-less. At this point the baby’s room was in disarray; there wasn’t even a mattress in the crib. I had a checklist of items to take to the hospital, but nothing packed.

                        I called Ned and said: I think my water broke.

                        I called the hospital and they said: We’ll have the doctor call you.

                        I called my Mom and she said: You should eat something before you go to the hospital.

                        Dr. McCoy called and said: You may have peed yourself and not noticed, that sometimes happens with pregnant women.

                        Dr. McCoy called again and hour later and said: You better come in.

                        I said: Can I have dinner first?

                        By the time I arrived at the hospital I was full of embarrassment but not food. I couldn’t bear to eat much. No one had really told me how inconvenient it was to have your water break outside of the hospital. The first nurse started making arrangements to see if it was really my water that broke and not just a strange continual bladder leak. She was nearly frantic and told me that she sincerely hoped it was not amniotic fluid. I took comfort, despite her urgency, which I can only assume was Heaven-sent.                      

                        Finally after several tests they confirmed what we already knew: Jack was on his way 5 weeks early. Translation: I would not be having my baby in Indiana, PA.

                       

                        Since I was not dilated at all I missed my one opportunity to fly in a helicopter to Pittsburgh. Instead, they ordered an ambulance to come. Since our parents could drive our vehicle to the hospital, Ned and I were able to ride in the ambulance together.  The ambulance drivers arrived an hour or so later to take us on our trip (my first ambulance ride to date). Surprisingly, one of the women to come was a girl that I had met at orientation at IUP. Her name was Jess Lucas and it was a blessing to see her again. The other woman’s name was Jane. Jane was about 6’ tall and had a personality to match it.

                        As we were driving to the hospital, Ned and Jess up front and Jane and I in the back, I learned that Jane lived down the road from where I grew up. She vaguely knew of me, and I of her. She lived on the property that painted their barn to look like a cow, if you happen to live close to Brush Valley. She told me that she loved music and told me stories about other people she had taken care of in the past. When my mild contractions began she kept talking through them to distract me.

                        When we arrived at West Penn Hospital they wheeled me into the biggest birthing room I have ever seen. It was probably the length of my house, which may not be that impressive when thinking of houses, but when thinking of delivery rooms is luxury luxury luxury. I remember that the floors were dark and the television was the whole way across the room (which was longer than it was wide) making it difficult to watch.

                        I met the nurse named Amy and she told me that I was no longer allowed to get up from the bed, even to pee. GASP. Any amount of dignity that I was attempting to clutch hold of was at this point thrown into the wind like chaff. My parents and Ned’s parents left us (though I don’t think they left the hospital) through the major part of the night. I originally wanted to birth the baby naturally. This made me want to chuck something violently at the doctor on staff who would come into the room during my worst contractions to ask me if I was ready for my epidural yet.

                        I waited until her shift was over, and it was about 8 o’clock in the morning, to finally accept some kind of medicine. Originally I only okayed the Stadoll, but then I thought, what the heck, let’s get the whole deal. I was so tired by this point that I no longer wanted to brace myself for the pain. I just wanted to sleep, which is what the Stadoll supplied, despite the fact that I saw spots, bees and kittens playing under the furniture. Right as the drug was beginning to take effect a woman came in to discuss what concerns they had for Jack after he was born. A baby at 35 weeks sometimes still lacks the final crucial part of their body’s development – their lungs. I was far too sleepy and dopey to respond to her and only listened partially as I swept in and out of consciousness.

                        When I woke up again they told me that it was time for my epidural. The anesthesiologist told me what he was doing but I doubt I listened much because the only thing I said was, “Are you from the South?” At that point I realized I needed to keep my mouth shut because I was still under the influence of Stadoll. The epidural was the greatest relief and kept me comfortable until Jack decided to enter the world.

                        Jack Westley Brooks Kimmel was officially born at 3:15 PM on September 24, 2010 in the presence of about 10 hospital employees, Ned and my Mom (that big delivery room was full of people). I will spare some of the details here of the events that took place directly after his birth. Suffice to say that they were pretty frightening and in a way that I was simply not prepared for. Despite the hospital staff’s gentle warnings, I still did not expect anything to be wrong with Jack at all.

                        Once I was able to leave the delivery room we went to visit little Jack in the NICU. Nothing could have prepared me for the emotions I felt after seeing him hooked up to monitors and living in an isolette. Of course it didn’t help that I was exhausted from labor, but I’m sure my emotions would have been stretched regardless. I sat in my wheelchair in front of the NICU nurse and cried – and I mean literally – uncontrollably. It was somewhat embarrassing to show such emotion in front of a stranger, but like I said, I didn’t have much shame to hold on to by this point (not that I could have stopped if I had).

                        Ned and I returned to our hospital room, exhausted, forlorn and feeling an absolute unconditional love for our baby that neither of us had experienced before. I probably would have spent the rest of the night weeping, sobbing and falling into an emotional depression if God hadn’t sent us a sense of peace that could truly only come from Him. I told Ned that this was something that he and I needed to be together on, because events like this could either bring us closer together or it could rip us apart. Ned agreed, and I can gratefully state that our marriage came out infinitely stronger than before.

                        That night in the hospital room I was feeling homesick and a little disoriented. I wanted my bed and my house, and for goodness’ sakes, I wanted a shower. I got on our laptop to remind me a little of our normal routine. I received an e-mail that night that could not have been sent at a better time. I know that this was another message from God, as well as a sentiment from the heart of another mother. This woman who I didn’t even know, sent me an e-mail describing that she too had been through what we were now experiencing. She also had a baby boy 5 weeks early. She wrote: We felt extremely unprepared (we were baby idiots and probably would have been unprepared even if he had gone full-term), but the early arrival and attendant health issues compounded that immensely.  He was so tiny and helpless, and I felt the weight of much responsibility for his well-being once he came home from the hospital.  I remember telling my mom, “You didn’t tell me that once you have a baby it’s like your heart is out there every moment with the potential to get stomped on!” She also told me that her son was now a freshman in college. She said that he was a tall young man with an extremely hearty appetite who was going to be a doctor and was on the college’s swimteam. Reading over her message and remembering that night still brings tears to my eyes. How dear was that woman, and how good was God to put it on her heart to write.

                        The other thing that helped that night, which may seem insignificant but really wasn’t, was Ned putting on some music in our room. As soon as I heard this song, with these lyrics, I felt some kind of burden taken from me:

  Alabama, Arkansas, I do love my Ma & Pa

Not the way that I do love you

Holy roly, me, oh my, you’re the apple of my eye

Girl, I’ve never loved one like you

Man, oh man, you’re my best friend, I scream it to the nothingness

There ain’t nothin’ that I need…

Ahh, Home

Let me come Home

Home is wherever I’m with you

 Looking back on those days all I can be is humble, reflective, and thankful. And now, with my little Jack Bean Baby turning 1 year old, I am so inexpressibly grateful for him and for the way he blesses Ned and I daily. Thank you God for this happy, healthy and even cute, little boy. I couldn’t ask for a better son.

"To love would be an awfully big adventure." Peter Pan

I love food. 



















I don’t just love eating food, either. I actually like cooking it. I also happen to love growing it. Recently I have become interested in preserving it, which has led me down a rabbit hole of discovery. Apparently there’s a whole movement of people that are putting up food – drying, freezing, canning. I have a pile of books ordered for me at the library all describing how you can live on a few acres of land and feed a family of four. This has led to my recent post on Facebook about wanting to grow my own wheat. I guess to me there has always been something romantic about living off the land.

It’s strange the discoveries I have made post-beginning of motherhood. There are certain dreams of mine that I’ve either forsaken or postponed, but there are others that I have developed postpartum. I would love to go back to college, for instance, and I still think about becoming a Veterinarian. I want to travel the world and I want to write novels and I want to do a whole slew of things. For now, though, my focus is taking care of the needs of my burgeoning family. I really enjoy this role, and though there are days when I think: Am I really doing something big or important right now? I know that there are endless benefits to raising healthy children and caring for my husband.

So now I need to realize my next food conquest. Is it moving south so I can grow an olive orchard (and press my own olive oil!)? Or is it growing a wheat field in my back yard? I suppose I could try to raise bees or chickens. Perhaps as our children grow older my focus will take another direction and we will start keeping horses and breeding prize-winning foals. Or maybe our kids will become deeply involved in the art world and we’ll have our very own camera crew. I may be lost in the dust a little if we have somehow spawned mathematicians but no matter what the outcome – I’m excited for the adventure ahead of us.

a day in the life of a [breastfeeding] [stay-at-home] mom

With an eight-month-old (as I suspect is the case with all the ages between newborn and 35), a mother has to work around their child’s routine. I had several errands to run but respectfully gave Jack a nap before we left. Everything was in my favor including Jack napping early and pooping before we left the house (only mothers of young children can appreciate how nice that is).

         Our first stop was to visit my sister-in-law (or otherwise “Auntie Alexis”) to see her yard sale. Business wasn’t quite booming at that time, but we did get to talk about weaning our little rascals and other points of conversation which are really only interesting to mothers who spend 65% of their day with a child attached to their body.

         After that, I went to the library. I really should know better, but I always think I will read several books in three weeks. Ha. Ha. Ha. Very funny.

         The most exciting part of the day was meeting my Dad to go to an auction. Ned and I love going to auctions. There’s just something about standing (because we don’t actually own lawn chairs and never remember to bring them anyway) surrounded by people who are over 65 looking at someone else’s junk. Auctions are usually the result of someone passing and there’s always something intriguing about seeing the items that the individual used to sustain their life: A bed, a lawn mower, an antique crock, a matching set of ceramic owls.

         This would be Jack’s fourth auction (our poor boy will grow up thinking it’s a normal pastime for children who aren’t Amish). Although he won’t remember this auction when he’s older, it’s my most memorable to date.

         It was about 90 degrees outside so I had Jack stripped down to a onesie and a diaper and hoped that he wouldn’t become dehydrated while I bid on extension cords and old U.S.Army jackets. The real prize was a lawn-cart which Ned had spotted online one lonely day at his coal covered cubicle. I really wanted to get that lawn cart for him. I kind of imagined rolling it into the yard for him and seeing him beam with boy-like joy. The cart would be glowing like a pirate’s box of treasure and Ned would be inclined to love me until the day we both die.

         My Dad looked at me and said: “You’re going to want to get under the tent, there’s a storm coming.”

         There really wasn’t room under the tent because my Dad and I didn’t get there early enough and plus I had Jack in a giant stroller. I decided to get Jack out and hold him as the sky began to darken and the beautiful maple trees that lined the property began to sway. Fortunately, they were also auctioning off the real estate so when I heard the thunder begin to roll, I had a place to escape with my baby.

         Jack and I stood in the kitchen with the woman in charge of handing out your number. The rain began falling and people came in the house to cash out. One couple came in and the man said, “This is where I used to have pancakes when I was a child.”

         The woman behind the table told me that the couple that lived in the house used to take in foster children. They were also somehow involved in the military.

         By the time the hail came, there were quite a few people gathered in that little kitchen and scattered in the little house. My Dad was still valiantly standing under the tent, partially because there weren’t a lot of other options for him. I kicked myself for not bringing in my purse and putting the stroller in a safe place.

I held Jack and wondered if we would be stuck in that house all night. I imagined the whole group of people in the basement waiting out a tornado and getting to know each other more intimately than we ever intended. I also thought guiltily of my dog that was outside in the rain. Thankfully, I had been able to feed and change Jack before all these people came inside.

And then…I felt Jack’s tummy tighten.

         Oh no.

         It tightened again.

         Oh no, I thought, he only ate pears last night.

         And then I felt a little rumble.

         I waited too long to check (like thirty seconds or so). I think maybe I was in denial. But then I looked – and by golly, it was everywhere. There was even poop on the carpeted kitchen floor. I tried to clean it up as discreetly as possible and then I wrapped Jack in my shirt and headed to the bathroom.

         One person we passed said, “Uh-oh.”

         Thankfully I had an undershirt on, so I stripped off my first shirt and put it on the bathroom floor to keep any more orange goo from escaping in this dead stranger’s house. Yes, I placed my baby on a dirty bathroom floor. I didn’t have a lot of options -- it was still pouring outside. Jack giggled and giggled. Oh what fun.

         After cleaning him up and wrapping up the evidence, I went back out to see if there was any chance of leaving. It was still pouring and Jack started to fuss so I decided to hide in the living room and feed Jack again. Once we got settled in and Jack was happily eating – that little house lost electricity. Perfect.

         Shortly after that my Dad came in to check on us. I couldn’t really convey my embarrassment at the whole situation, but I think he understood. We soon left because the rain let up and the auction was postponed. The highlight was Jack falling asleep on my shoulder – something that hasn’t happened for months. 

         We didn’t end up getting that lawn cart, but I’m sort of banking on Ned loving me until I die (and beyond) anyway. And, now I’m wondering what kind of adventure the next auction will be. My Mom always says it isn’t the days that go off without a hitch that we remember and talk about. It’s the ones where everything goes unexpectedly that are the true adventures.

         

And what's romance? Usually, a nice little tale where you have everything as you like it, where rain never wets your jacket and gnats never bite your nose and it's always daisy-time. - D.H. Lawrence

        I intended on kissing my first boyfriend in the rain. But since I was waiting for that perfect magical moment, and because it never seemed to precipitate when I felt ready, I didn’t kiss anyone when I was 17 (or any of the years preceding it).

         When I was 21 I met a boy who had about one attribute that I was looking for in a man (curly hair). I kissed that boy in the rain and felt nothing – only excitement that it was raining and therefore seemed like fate. I secretly wondered if maybe I just didn’t like boys, since kissing was such a farce. This was quite the disappointment for having waited an entire lifetime.

         It would be embarrassing to chronicle every boy that caught my attention. My scope was huge and while I prided myself on waiting for a “great” guy, I was distracted by quite a few specimens that were left wanting.

         My brothers used to tease me and say that I was going to college for my MRS degree. I did want to get married and have children and stay home and raise babies (and of course write novels). But, by my junior year of college I had given up all hope of meeting someone that I could spend my life with. I decided that God didn’t want me to have a family, so I created extravagant fantasies of how I would spend my life. Some of them tempt me now, they were so courageous and exciting and spotlighted me being endlessly selfless (I really give myself a lot of credit). These dreams always included places like Africa (to help people) and Australia (because that would be so cool). And though I would never find love, I would probably go on adventures with pirates and cowboys and ninjas and other timeless icons. I would write novels about my adventures and I would be internationally acclaimed (I wasn’t kidding when I said I think highly of myself). And every day I would be like Robin Williams, seizing the day and capturing the wind and teaching unsuspecting students poetry… or something like that.

         Sometimes your basic love story really is unexpected. Although I created every reason for things not to work out (seeking love in all the wrong places, anticipating the coming of said love so intensely that I idolized it, crushing on every random stranger who seemed to possess all the characteristics I so badly desired in a glance), God really did have someone intended for me. So, when I was a young girl and my Mom said, “I wonder where your future husband is right now?” it turns out he was growing up in Shelocta, Pennsylvania (who knew?). And God in his wisdom did not help foster feelings of affection until the timing was right, even though we knew one another since we were in kindergarten.

         Now, also, God has blessed me with my very own baby. His name is Jack and he is so cool. I’m hoping that the three of us can go on many adventures including pirates and Luke Skywalker and Daniel Boone, and whatever else is hip these days.

         Oh, and in case you were wondering, the kiss was well worth waiting for.

Science does not know its debt to imagination. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

There is this theory that I find compelling, probably because I find it to be equally offensive. It is the idea that while the Scientist has free reign to let their imagination explore the Universe and discover the function and depth of every facet, the Christian – or otherwise man of faith – is limited, finite and unable to consider life beyond that which their very controlled and very closed-minded religion dictates.

This theory stems from the idea that people of faith have a religious answer for every question, and if they don’t, then they don’t really care what the answer is.

The image that comes to my mind is something like this:

The Scientist is to the Christian like the children from Narnia are to the preacher from Pollyanna. (Stay with me).

As a Scientist – not dictated by answers already bound in Scripture – they are able to perceive the world with child-like wonder. Everything in the Universe is uncharted and beautiful – untouched and virginal. When Lucy crossed through that wardrobe and in to a fresh snowy world, so it is when an astronomer peers through a telescope and discovers distant galaxies.

The Christian, however, is a nay-sayer. The Christian hates imagination and anything apart from the concept that is: If you’re perfect you can go to Heaven, but if you drink or have sex, you’re going straight to Hell. The Christian is quintessentially any extremely pious or severe person that is ever depicted in cinema or television, for instance: the priest from Chocolat, the aforementioned preacher from Pollyanna, or Angela from The Office.

What I find particularly saddening about this is that faith is exactly the opposite of the deflated, stagnate and unimaginative reputation that it currently carries. Yes, it is true that Christians can be close-minded, some more than others, but faith is and will forever be more enlightening than anything that we can perceive solely through our senses. Christians accept certain truths – for instance that Christ died on the cross for our sins – but it is no different than people accepting that there is gravity or that sharks exist. I may not ever see Paris or Rome, and I could argue consequently that they don’t exist, but that’s asinine and doesn’t change the fact that they do. A Scientist builds on established theories and a Christian acts on established principles. That does not mean that a Christian has no scope for imagination or creativity.

As a Christian I look out at a starry sky and I marvel. Yes, I know that God created everything – and at the end of every experiment or exploration, God is the key component – the One who set everything in motion. But how does that make it any less remarkable or interesting to discover new things? I know that God exists, but that doesn’t mean I have no interest in tuning in to the Discovery Channel and watching Planet Earth. Have you ever SEEN Planet Earth? That stuff is freakin’ amazing. I am totally in awe of what scientists are able to discover and figure out. I think it is so unbelievably humbling that there are galaxies upon galaxies upon galaxies and that we are a tiny little speck in that. I am frightened as well as fascinated by the creatures that are showcased in River Monsters. The human body is marvelous and it is positively incredible that people have been able to determine how every microscopic part functions. There does not need to be a battleground set between Science and Faith. Science is simply an observation of the things that were already created, and faith gives us hope and knowledge of the things that we cannot currently see.