Snow Day

I woke up a little after 8:00 Thursday morning to an amazing sight. It was snowing! Literally snowing. Actual flakes instead of the occasional hard pellets of ice that we do get. I’ve lived in southern Louisiana since 1986, and in that time I’ve seen it “snow” twice, which means I saw a few flakes mixed with sleet. But this was an actual snow that continued for hours and ended up laying about three inches of the white fluff on our entire neighborhood. (Some forty miles north of us it snowed eight inches!) I quickly went out and had a walkabout.

Later, I completed my grading and got my final grades turned in. I still have a few student letters of recommendation to do, but otherwise I’m officially finished until January. I have a deadline on an article but I’m hoping to have time for some fiction as well. Maybe I can also get some stuff submitted.

In reading, after taking a well-earned break from doing anything, I finished my night off with Darwin’s God by Cornelius G. Hunter. It was a complete waste of time, and I wish I had those hours back. Hunter bases his “entire” book on the fact that Darwin commented several times in On the Origin of the Species about how God would not have deliberately engineered a world with so much savagery in it and with so many poorly designed structures. Hunter points out, rightly, that this presupposes a view of God as essentially a benevolent, merciful, and competent creator.

After this single point, however, Hunter states the same thing over and over throughout 175 boring pages. His primary addition to this argument is that the very fact that Darwin mentioned God in his book means that evolution is really “entirely” an argument against the positive view of God rather than for evolution. Of course, Darwin made such comments in his book. Any new theory is going to point out how it is different from the prevailing theory.

When he’s not reemphasizing the above point, Hunter is claiming that the evidence for evolution is simply not evidence. He makes this claim over and over…, with no justification whatsoever. He has to know he’s engaging in “baffling with bullshit.”

Finally, though, the worst part of this book is its cowardice. I wondered if Hunter would have the guts to say what lies at the heart of his argument. He didn’t. I wasn’t surprised, since it would have horribly insulted many Christians who probably make up the book’s primary audience. If we follow Hunter’s arguments to their logical conclusion it would mean that God, according to Hunter, is capricious, vicious, and hateful. Hunter’s God is a trickster and a liar, and Hunter should have had the cojones to say so.

And oh, wow, the snow is still here this morning, although it's melting fast. This is unheard of.

Forgive me for not getting around to everyone's blog the past couple of days. I'm off to visit now, although I doubt I'll be able to catch up on all the posts I missed.

OUR CHRISTMAS TREE IS BELOW: LOL.

Words of Power

Certain words evoke emotions and associations. They punch you where you read. Like a moss-slicked boulder in a creek, they break your thoughts into eddies that must flow over or around them. Again, I would call this resonance.

Snow: Goosebumps rise. My toes ache for fire. I see the cattle with white rime along their backs. Slush piles up on the corners of the truck’s windows where the wipers can't beat. Near the ditches the pale purity is churned into mud. But sometimes the light strikes blindingly from the distance.

Blood: It stops me when I read upon it. I see crimson splatters on white. I see black and clotted gore with flies gathering, and necklaces of ruby on pale ivory throats. I see many things: like the red-wine stain that darkened the torn knee of my blue jeans after I totaled my motorcycle.

Death: I see my sister's skeletal face as she lay dying from cancer. I hear the rattle of her breathing in her last moments. I see my father’s waxen pallor in the satin lined coffin, rosary beeds upon his chest. I feel my own wet cheeks. In the background there are battlefields, spent weapons fallen like frozen lightning. The ravens lift.

What are your words of power? The words of power? Find them and you’ll find your muse.