'Til The Cows Come Home

I Swear To God

On my way home from the grocery store over the weekend I found myself walking behind a father and his young daughter.  She was seven, maybe eight years old at the most.  I caught a snippet of their conversation and immediately turned down the volume on my iPod and eavesdropped to the best of my ability.
 
Little Girl:  So the people who believe God made the world are called Creationists?
 
Father:  That's right.
 
Little Girl:  And Evolutionists believe life developed from single-cell organisms and we turned into monkeys and now people?
 
Father:  That's the long and short of it, yes.
 
Little Girl:  So which one is true?
 
Father:  I can tell you what I believe, sweetheart, and we can discuss how I came to believe it but that's just my opinion.  I think it's important for you to decide on your own.
 
Little Girl:  Well, I think it's complicated.
 
Father:  How so?
 
Little Girl:  I know we're all supposed to believe in God but I just don't understand how you can ignore the hard scientific facts.
 
Father:  Go on.
 
Little Girl:  And if God really did all this on His own you'd think He'd have left more proof of his work and there wouldn't be all these different religions trying to figure it out and fight over it.
 
They turned the corner and I lost the rest of their conversation.  I wanted to run up and hug that little girl for being so freakishly smart and sincere.  And I wanted to praise her father for encouraging her to do her own thinking.  It's moments like these when you see the beauty and wonder of a child that you can believe in a higher power.
 
And then I got home and realized that the zipper on my jeans had been down the entire time I'd been out of the house, thus proving that God, in fact, doesn't exist.  Or has a wretched sense of humor.