He “gives life to the dead and calls into being what does not yet exist.”
Romans 4:17
I am grateful for the use of the image provided by https://unsplash.com/@loukhs
I guess that you, like
me, got the primordial soup theory served up to you? Oh boy—I can’t believe
they are still serving this despite all we know, or more to the point, all we don’t
know.
The idea was simple: life began billions of years ago in a warm pond filled with basic chemicals, and through a combination of chance and the right conditions, these chemicals formed the first building blocks of life. We were told this was how it all started, but as I grew older, I realized that this theory, despite being taught as fact, has never been conclusively proven. It’s a hypothesis, an educated guess, and yet it continues to be fed to people as though it explains everything.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xg4DjvDYQXw&t=18s
But even then, deep down, I felt there was more to it. From an early age, I had this ache—a yearning to know who created the stars, not just how they came to be. I wanted to understand the why behind it all.
I remember being captivated by the night sky as a child, looking up at the stars and feeling a sense of awe. Who could have placed them there? What power could have brought such beauty into existence? The explanations I received in school didn’t seem to satisfy that deeper question. Science could tell me about stars burning millions of miles away, but it couldn’t touch the ache within me, that pull toward something—or someone—bigger.
It reminds me of a simple analogy: imagine walking along the beach and stumbling across someone doing the Romeo and Juliet thing on the beach—a heart shape etched into the sand. None of us would ever conclude that the wind or the waves just happened to carve that heart. We’d know, instinctively, that someone had drawn it. Design needs a designer. It’s such a simple truth, and yet, when we look at the far greater complexity of the universe, we often overlook it. If a heart in the sand points to a child’s hand, how much more should the intricate design of the cosmos point to a Creator?
As we learn more about life and the universe, the evidence of design becomes even more overwhelming. Consider DNA, for instance. It’s like a language—an incredibly complex code that determines everything about us, from our physical traits to how our bodies function. It’s far more advanced than any man-made software, and yet some still want to believe it happened by chance. Or take photon splitting, where scientists have discovered that when you split a photon into two, the behaviour of one photon is instantly mirrored by the other, no matter the distance between them. This phenomenon boggles the mind and speaks to the deep, interconnected complexity of creation.
The more we discover about the universe and life, the more intricate and finely tuned everything appears. Yet somehow, we’re expected to believe that all this complexity, all of this design, happened without a designer? It doesn’t sit well with me.
And here is where the problem exists for some. Society is prepared to accept any theory other than God. Could that be that when you accept the God hypothesis, we have to do a deep down search of what all that implies? A responsibility, a change in life's pattern Romans 12:2.
But that may be too simple. Many have a genuine struggle because of human suffering, but neither do we want to throw the baby out with the bathwater and that's a subject best tackled by another forthcoming blog.
As a Christian, I believe the design we see in the world around us reflects God’s creative power. He’s the one who “calls into being things that were not,” as Paul writes in Romans 4:17. Science may offer insights into how things work, but it’s God who gives everything meaning. The stars, the galaxies, the intricate details of life—they all point to Him, the ultimate designer. And that ache I felt as a child? It was the beginning of my journey to know the One who placed the stars in the sky.