The Case For -- and Against -- Science Fairs

It's Science Fair week. Oh, joy. I have very mixed feelings about the Science Fair thing.

On the one hand, I understand that it is very valuable for students to go through the process of the scientific method -- generating a question and hypothesis, designing a study to test it, testing it, analyzing the results. It's one thing to understand the method in your brain; it's another thing to actually put it to use. It's a thing to be used, not merely understood.

On the other hand, the scientific method is a laborious, meticulous process, and for those who are not naturally so inclined, it is exhausting. I suppose once a year isn't too much to ask of a teenage student, but . . . sigh!

On the one hand, I realize that coming up with your own original question that you want answered should make the project more interesting and more practical.

On the other hand, "original" and "practical" hypotheses are challenging to come up with -- and often end up being very challenging and difficult to test, which only serves to make the whole experience a negative one for the student.

On the one hand, I understand that science teachers and science fair judges get very tired of seeing the same "old reliable" projects year after year, to the point of wanting to puke.

On the other hand, there's a reason that those old reliable projects are old and reliable -- THEY WORK. And they are doable for the less scientifically inclined. It is better for such students to have a successful project from which they learn the necessary skills and concepts than that they have a flop of an experiment that only teaches them that they hate science.

On the one hand, I realize that knowing how to present your information creatively is a valuable skill in itself, one that will serve our students well in the marketplace. And I know of students who live for the making of their presentation board -- that's their reward for trudging through the actual experiment.

On the other hand, the time and energy and money and stress that goes into some of these tri-fold boards -- and the parental one-upmanship they put on display -- is unnecessary and unbeneficial. Maybe even harmful.

My girl's experiment is done. Her lab report is written. She just has the presentation board left, but that's the part we both hate. I figure, we'll print up stuff and tape it to the board and leave it at that. Her best friend is the Pintarest-type who will have the tri-fold that blows everyone away, and we'll step back and give her that glory. It's not worth that much stress to us.

And then next week is Spring Break. Whew! Summer will be here before we know it.

Still Coughing . . .

I'm quickly losing faith in the medical profession. I mean, yeah, I'm sure these are good people, and I know they work hard at what they do, and I assume they have the best of intentions . . . but I'm not convinced they know what they're doing half the time.

This cough I've been talking about for a few weeks? This is typical of me. I get your basic common cold that everyone gets, and it cycles through all its symptoms ending with the cough. And the cough gets stuck in my chest and stays there. For weeks. I can't get enough air into my lungs. I can't yawn at night when I'm tired without coughing. I can't exert myself in any way without coughing. It's exhausting.

It's been this way for years. And it can't be something in my environment (like an allergy) because it happened in New Jersey, then in Sioux City, and now twice already in the short time I've been here. But no doctor seems to be able to figure it out. Usually, they give me an antibiotic (just in case) and some serious cough meds -- occasionally an inhaler of some sort. Eventually the cough stops, but never as quickly as they tell me the meds should take care of it.

Last week, I went to my new doctor here (whom I really like so far), and he decided to try zapping the nasty thing with cough suppressants and two different inhalers. Which worked! At first. When I went to Wicked over the weekend, the cough seemed to be almost licked, and I was thrilled.

But as the week has progressed, it is coming back. I have a doctor's appointment again this morning, but I'm not optimistic he's really going to be able to take care of this thing.

It was the same way with my sleep problems for so many years (which still aren't really licked, I don't think -- I just manage them sufficiently to get by). It's the same with this post-nasal drip problem my husband has. They go on and on and on . . . no doctor seems to be able to figure out how to FIX them. We can put a man on the moon (as the saying goes), but we can't stop my cough.

Which all just goes to show you, I believe, that Man is just not as smart as he thinks he is. At some point during the Enlightenment or something, Man decided that he was capable, eventually, of understanding all the mysteries of the world, and therefore controlling it all. We can heal every disease . . . prevent every catastrophe . . . end every conflict . . . cure every ill. We will eventually have the knowledge and ability to create a heaven on earth if we want it badly enough.

Only we will never have all the knowledge. And we can never have all the ability. And truth be told, we don't want it badly enough. I could never survive as an atheist. If I believed the greatness of Man was the hope of the world, I would be in total despair.

Science Fair: The Conclusion

I wrote last week about my daughter's science fair experiment. About what a monumental hassle it was. About how the results completely defied scientific research out there. About how science-disabled the females in our household are.

And then, lo and behold . . . she won her age division at the science fair yesterday. Holy smokes.

Now, I have to be honest, I did wonder if she had a chance at some kind of recognition. Even though her results seemed to be completely bogus (really, how did drinking water cause her heart rate to increase? At all three trials!), she was pretty darn meticulous about the whole thing.

And she certainly understands the scientific process, especially “variables”. Variables have been the bane of her existence for the past month. “I can't sleep later in the morning – that would be a variable.” “I can't eat more for breakfast – that would be a variable.” “Don't make me laugh so hard! I just drank the stupid coffee – and laughing could be a variable!”

With all her obsessive efforts at controlling variables, it is amazing how wonky her results were. Her ultimate conclusion from the whole experience was that humanity is just one big, stinkin', ridiculous variable. Next year, she'll study rocks.

Anyway, as I said, I did wonder if she might not get some kind of recognition for the quality of her work. I especially wondered that when I heard how behind so many other kids were on getting their projects done at all. Many had not even begun their experiments before last weekend. One kid in particular didn't start until the day before the fair, my daughter heard.

And this is where my left-brained, controlling, structured, organized self has to keep my ego in check. When my daughter was excitedly wagging her blue ribbon in my face yesterday afternoon, my first thought was, “It's because she didn't wait until the last minute. It's because she kept up with all the teacher's deadlines all along in the process, so her final product was complete and thorough, not rushed and sloppy. Being organized and planning ahead really does make a difference.”

I still think that. But that kid who started the day before? He went home with a 3^rd place ribbon. As if he were thumbing his nose at me and my organized planning.

C'est la vie. We all find our own paths. The crucial point here is: MY daughter has a blue ribbon from a science fair. Alert the media.

This Is Why I Don't Teach Science

There's a meme going around Facebook these days (see it below): it's a display board a mother made up -- spoofing those done for science fairs -- that explains how families hate to do science fairs. I've been tempted to share in on my own wall, but I've resisted.  My bad attitude doesn't need to be spread.

Because the science fair is driving us crazy right now.  Actually, we haven't even gotten to the science fair part -- the display and all.  The experiment alone is doing us in.

And feeling rather guilty about it all because I'm convinced that the only reason my daughter is struggling through this is because she inherited my science-deficit genes. Science doesn't work for me. Oh, I can understand the concepts . . . in fact, I enjoy reading and hearing about it.  But my experiments never work.  Never.

I think I've already shared my high school Chemistry woes. Mr. Judd told us that, if we wanted an A or B for the final semester grade, we needed to come after class and do an extra experiment. He gave us a test tube with a substance in it, and we had to determine what the substance was and how much of it was in there.  Every time I did this experiment, the empty test tube weighed more than the test tube with the substance in it.  Every time.  And I stayed after school several days to repeat that experiment five or six times.  Once, I had Mr. Judd walk through the whole process with me to see what I was doing wrong. "You must have discovered a negative weight," he said.  I couldn't tell if he was mocking me or not.

In any case, several years of failed homeschool science experiments later, I have come to the logical conclusion that there is something in my genes that makes this stuff not work. It's a sad thing. Pity me. And thank the Lord that your medical well-being is not in my hands.

But as I said, my youngest seems to have inherited this deficiency. Her experiment is about the effects of caffeine on heart rate. She chose three caffeinated beverages -- diet Coke, McDonald's coffee, and Monster -- and did three trials on each, testing how a cup of each affected her heart rate.

The first aggravation was trying to control all the potential variables. We had to do each trial at the same time every day . . . she had to get up at the same time each of those mornings and eat the same thing for breakfast . . . and when you add the trials with the control beverage of water, that's twelve days we had to do this. Twelve days where our morning schedule was dominated by this stupid experiment.

But what's even MORE aggravating is that her results are the OPPOSITE of what she hypothesized. Her heart rate went down with the Monster (dramatically on her last trial).  It went down with coffee (although she has one more trial with that today).  Diet Coke was more variable: down the first trial, the same on the second trial, and up on the third.

And get this: every trial with her control beverage, her heart rate went UP.  Water increased her heart rate. And Monster made it plummet. Go figure.

We don't know what to do with this. It's possible there were other variables involved that we weren't aware of and didn't control. (I suspected from the beginning that the thought of having to drink the coffee -- nasty stuff! -- sent her heart rate soaring before she started those trials.) It's also possible that she just has a wonky heart. But her results are due in class tomorrow, and next week is the science fair; we have no time to redo it or do something else.

Sigh . . . I hate science.

Bad Religion or Bad Science?

If you're a homeschooler or a serious science person, you were probably aware of the big evolution debate last night between Bill Nye the Science Guy and Ken Ham from Answers in Genesis. I had BSF, so I couldn't watch the debate live -- I'll be watching it today with my youngest while she's home from school.

I'm anxious to see the debate, but I'm not anxious to deal with the fall-out on both sides, because I'm confident nobody came out a clear "winner" here, as in the other person left the stage saying, "Good points, Jack -- I'm convinced."  I fear that such events only rile up each side of the argument with more ammunition to attack the other side.

And I'm tired of the attacks. I know, for all my talk, I should be prepared for people to dismiss me at best and attack me at worst because of what I believe, but it still rankles me when people who claim to be the top of the evolutionary chain of mankind behave so ridiculously.

I'm willing to concede that there are those on the creationist side who don't approach this scientifically -- they believe what they believe because it's what the Bible says and no scientific findings will convince them otherwise. But I would hope my "opponents" would concede something similar on their side: many of their people refuse to listen to anything that a creation scientist or intelligent design theorist might say simply because it smacks of a supernatural god which they refuse to believe in up front. These scientists bring up some genuine problems with the evolutionary theory, and evolutionists only weaken their stance be refusing to address those points and simply ridiculing the messenger.

The ridicule is the real problem here. There is something wrong when, the moment a scientist brings up actual scientific evidence that calls into question the validity of the theory of evolution, scientific inquiry ceases. Evolutionist scientists do not take that evidence, examine it, test it themselves, and come up with a calm rebuttal of the facts (if one can be made). They ridicule the scientist daring to go against the mainstream. They deny him tenure -- even cause him to lose his position. I've heard before that, in anonymous surveys, the vast majority of people who work professionally in a scientific field find the theory of evolution an unsatisfactory answer to the question of the origin of life . . . but if you asked your average university physics professor about it, he wouldn't say that because he knows he would immediately lose all of his professional standing, if not his job.

That's not religion gone bad. That's science gone bad.

And there is most DEFINITELY a problem when my eldest's physics teacher feels emboldened enough by the arrogant stance of his professional community to publicly shame the Christian students in his class for being stupid and ignorant and small-minded -- before they've even said a word.

That's not science. That's prejudice and boorishness, and it has no place in a classroom at any level.

Can we all at least start with the agreement that NOBODY knows for sure how life began? No evolutionist or creationist, Christian or atheist, scientist or layman. None of us were there. We all are making intelligent guesses based on what was left behind. That kind of humility really must be at the basis of any scientific inquiry if it is to have any validity at all.

Because science is about finding the truth, and truth does not need to be defended by shaming its detractors. Truth is strong enough to fight its own battles -- just let it fight.

Teaching Science to Non-Scientists -- Which is MOST of Us

If you read here much, you've probably picked up on the fact that I'm more of an English/History gal than a Math/Science one. My girls are the same -- which is why I'm quite interested in how they are taught math and science, because I suspect some of my dislike for science, anyway, is related to the way I was taught.

So, I was pleased to be invited to a meeting at my youngest's school to discuss the science curriculum they may implement starting next year. (Although I'm still not quite sure why I was invited. I may have signed up for a committee at the beginning of the year. Or I may have annoyed the principal too much with my questions about high school. In any case, I was happy to be there.)

The curriculum they are looking at is brand new.  There are only a couple of textbooks written at the moment, but more in the works. What I liked about them is their approach.

The author (who presented at the meeting) explained that most science textbooks are massive, back-breaking tomes stuffed with far more information that a person can master in a year. (No lie -- have you looked at a high school science textbook lately? Picked one up? Holy smokes.) Because of the overload, students have no choice, really, but to fall into the pattern of cramming for the test and then immediately forgetting everything they've learned to make room for the next flood of information.

(Can I hear an "amen"? Preach it, brutha!!)

This guy's textbook's were small. He said he pared down the content to only the essentials for the course and then focused on mastery of those essentials. 

Mastery!!  Actually learning the stuff. What a concept!

He has taught science for many years and has seen how much more effective this method is. But I didn't need to hear that to be convinced -- COMMON SENSE tells me that's a much more effective method.  What possible good does the cram-test-forget method accomplish?

He also recommended only 5-6 real experiments during the year and teaching the students to write up high quality lab reports over those experiments. Again, an amen from me. Hands-on stuff is important . . . discovery learning has its place . . . but I've observed that the plethora of experiments my eldest has done in her science classes have not accomplished what the teachers hoped they would. Again, it was overload. Do a few really good ones and integrate the writing skills with that.  (I've become more and more convinced that writing cannot be taught well in isolation by high school -- writing has to be about something.)

This guy also had recommendations about math offerings at the high school level, because math and science are so connected.  The one I liked: for the kids who are not math whizzes and who DON'T need to learn trigonometry and math analysis and pre-calculus, offer them AP Statistics after they complete Algebra 2.  (Aha!!) Much more practical, but also at a high academic level to push them a bit . . . and they get college credit when they're done.  Love it.

Really, I loved it all.  It was enough to make me want to be a science teacher. (Ew . . . okay, that was hyperbolic.  Big words. Whew. I feel better.)

It's Not About Your Pretty Leaves

It seems I'm being inundated with the Biblical vine/branch/fruit analogy lately.  You know, the one from John 15:

I am the true vine and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off any branch in me that doesn't bear fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit, he prunes so that it will be more fruitful.

And the fruit of the Spirit list in Galatians 5:

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, goodness, kindness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against these things there is no law.

I recently discovered that these passages shed light on another story that I've always been confused by. 

In Mark 11, on his way into Jerusalem, Jesus is hungry and passes by a fig tree with no fruit. He curses the tree, and the next day on their way out of town, the fig tree is withered from its roots. I always thought that an odd story. I also wasn't quite sure what the point was; I mean, after the disciples comment on the tree, Jesus goes on to tell them that they can move mountains with enough faith, but he makes that point in other ways -- it doesn't seem necessary to kill a living plant to communicate that message.

But perhaps there's something of this fruit analogy involved. The purpose of a fig tree is to bear figs. Not to grow leaves and branches and deep roots -- those are all merely tools used in the process of bearing figs. Similarly, believers live on earth strictly to bear fruit.

And notice that the fruit of the plant is used by other creatures. Animals eat the fruit. The fruit gives life -- but not to the plant itself, really. It gives life to others. And a plant that bears no fruit to give life to others is not justified in sticking around, Jesus seems to be saying.

So, all the Bible studies I go to . . . all the books I read, the scripture I memorize . . . all the church services I attend and sermons I hear . . . if all they do is deepen my own roots and broaden my own leaves, they are a waste. Deep roots and broad leaves are only there to bring me the nutrients I need to bear fruit -- fruit that is for the benefit of others, not myself.

Another thing: the fruit of the plant is part of the reproductive system. The seed to create another plant is inside the fruit. The way a plant makes more of itself is by its seed being scattered -- by animals eating of its fruit and leaving the seeds elsewhere.

See, I should have gone to a Christian school growing up. If science had been taught to me this way, as a reflection of the character of God, I might have cared.

Whether Or Not You Believe

[BTW, please forgive the shifting fonts in this post.  Can't make blogspot cooperate today . . . ]

It seems like I've been picking on scientists a lot lately, and I want to make something clear.  I have friends who are scientists; I know there are some who humble and reasonable.  But I wonder at how they have such tolerance for (and even sometimes get swept up in) the rampant arrogance in their profession.

Case in point: a friend posted a meme on FB with a scientist saying, “The one good thing about science is that it’s true whether or not you believe in it.”  Oh, my goodness -- don't you know I went off on that one.

The glasses through which
we view reality . . .

So, when science told us that blood-letting would cure our ailments, science was true whether or not anyone believed it.  When science said that the medieval Black Death was caused by "bad air", science was true whether or not anyone believed it.  Re-e-eally.

No, folks -- reality is true, whether or not people believe it.  Scientists only speak truth when they have a complete and accurate interpretation of reality.  And this is where I believe the arrogance of science rears its ugly head, because for scientists to have a complete and accurate interpretation of reality, it means a few things.

1) They have all the facts.  We know this isn't true.  Scientists are discovering new facts and debunking old facts all the time.  (Kinda gives new meaning to the word "fact".)

2) They are an objective observer of those facts.  It's very distressing to me how many scientists are so deceived about themselves as to believe that they are able to step back and view the world without the colored glasses of worldview that the rest of humanity wears.  NOBODY is completely objective.  EVERYBODY has a worldview that colors the way you view reality.

3) Science, by definition, is the study of the natural world.  It cannot deal with anything that might be in the realm of supernatural.  This means that someone who believes science can provide us with a complete and accurate interpretation of reality must believe that the supernatural doesn't exist -- or that if it does exist, it has no effect on our reality.  This, for all practical purposes, is a statement of religious belief.  And it automatically makes the believer an unobjective observer. To eliminate the possibility of supernatural influence on our world is to shut your eyes to a lot of what could actually be reality out there. 

And frankly, I suspect that this is why the majority of everyday scientists actually do claim a belief in some kind of God or Deity.  A humble and thorough examination of reality will reveal phenomena that simply have no natural explanation.  And an honest and unbiased observer will then concede the possibility of something that is beyond the natural.

That, my friends, is true . . . whether or not you believe in it.  ;)

Unpredictable Science

I read yesterday about a fascinating study by a scientist who studies scientists -- specifically, the scientists in four chemistry labs at Stanford.  He observed all their behavior and the research they did, interviewed them, read their notes and all.  And he found that science is a very frustrating endeavor . . . because nature simply doesn't cooperate.

Now, here's why that's interesting:  one of the premises of science is that the universe is a predictable, orderly place -- that once you figure out the nature of things and the rules they live by, you'll be able to say with great confidence what is going to happen in the future.  This is why scientific findings are required to be replicable before they are accepted.

But these scientists in some of the top-quality labs of the world were constantly stymied by the results of their experiments.  Basic findings could not be replicated.  Months' worth of work was tossed out because they could make no sense of the results.  In fact, "more than 50 percent of their data was unexpected.  (In some labs, the figure exceeded 75 percent.)"  In a supposedly systematic pursuit for supposedly predictable truth, things rarely happened like they expected.

Some observations about this.  Number one, I feel much better about how all of my homeschool science experiments fail.

Number two, if they had a theory that X would happen in this experiment and Y happened instead, isn't it more scientific to change your theory to accommodate Y than to throw out your data because it "didn't make sense"?  How many scientific theories are pushed on the public that are disproven in research 50-75 percent of the time, but the scientists refuse to believe the evidence of their eyes over the worldview in their brains?

Number three, if scientists are this unreliable about analyzing the natural phenomena happening right before their eyes and adjusting their theories and worldviews accordingly, why do we put such unrelenting trust in the theories they present us regarding the beginning of time, concerning phenomena that nobody has seen?

Number four, is it possible that our universe isn't as orderly and predictable as we want to believe it is?  That we arrogant heirs of the Enlightenment have convinced ourselves that we can stand apart from our world and figure everything out when our brains are simply not that grand and limitless?  That maybe God, in a loving attempt to draw us to Him, steps into the natural world and stirs things up a little just to remind us that He is God and we are not?

I'm not being anti-science here.  Really, nobody who uses computers or microwaves or pharmaceuticals has any business being anti-science.  But it behooves us to recognize arrogance in our species when we see it, and it behooves us to approach the claims of the consistently arrogant with some healthy skepticism.

Just Let Me Enjoy Science for a Bit.....

My friend Kim spoke last night at the homeschool Mother's Night Out about teaching science.  I have a confession to make: I hate teaching science.  Another confession:  I hated learning science . . . which may relate to why I hate teaching science.  My girls don't enjoy science either . . . which may relate to my distaste for teaching science.  But probably not; they're both like me -- they're more History and English gals.  History and English deal with stuff in my brain; Science deals with stuff in my hands.  I'm not as good with stuff in my hands as with stuff in my brain.

But a couple weeks ago, my youngest and I finished a unit on Astronomy, and it was probably my favorite science unit we've done.  My one guilt trip about it is that we only did one experiment.  But then, it's astronomy -- not a lot of experimenting a middle schooler can do on outer space.  The experiments were always my least favorite part of science, which I know sounds crazy because that's usually what people enjoy the most.  But my experiments inevitably fail.

Case in point: in high school Chemistry, the teacher told us if we wanted an A or B for the second semester, we had to stay after class one day and do an extra experiment.  He gave us a test tube with a mystery substance in it.  We had to figure out what the substance was and how much of it there was.  The amount of the substance we figured out by weighing the test tube, dumping the stuff out, weighing the empty test tube, and then subtracting.  Easy as pie, yes?  Every time I did this experiment (and I stayed and did it six or seven times, mind you), the empty test tube weighed more than the full test tube.  I even had Mr. Judd walk through it with me step by step, and he couldn't figure out what I did wrong.  At least he acted like he couldn't.  He joked about my having discovered a negative weight, and I couldn't tell if he was mocking me or not.  In any case, I took my C -- my only C in high school -- C for Chemistry, which I hate.

But back to this Astronomy unit.  I found a wonderful free website:  bubbl.us.  You can create a "bubble web" to organize information.  So we checked out piles of kids' astronomy books, read them, and created a big bubble web organizing all the information about the life stage of a star, the definition of a planet, the zodiac signs, the NASA space programs, the astronomers from the middle ages . . . honestly, we loved it!  I think this fit the way Kiddo's and my brains work -- the left-brained stuff. 

We also read a science fiction book, Have Spacesuit, Will Travel, to pull it all together.  And we looked up video of the space shuttle explosion and audio of Orson Welles' "War of the Worlds" broadcast.  And we watched Apollo 13.  And when the play is over, we're going to the science museum in Des Moines where they have a Mars exhibit going on right now.  Loved.  This.  Unit.

But only one experiment.  Somebody tell me that's okay -- because I'm enjoying science right now, and I don't want to let go of that yet.

God: 4D and Beyond

A few fascinating things about God that always blow my mind.  The youngest and I were discussing these some the other day during math, when the topic of two-dimensional and three-dimensional objects came up. 

A two-dimensional world would be completely flat.  And a person who had only ever existed in a two-dimensional world would have a very difficult time even conceiving of a three-dimensional world.  I remember hearing the Trinity described thus: if a three-dimensional being put three fingers down into a two-dimensional world, the two-dimensional creatures would perceive of that being as three separate entities and, again, have a very difficult time conceiving how they could ever be one being.

Our world, however, is beyond 3-D.  We exist also in the fourth dimension: time.  In fact, I heard scientist Hugh Ross speak once about how scientist have identified some 10 or 11 dimensions.  That blows my unscientific mind all to pieces.  And realizing that God is beyond ALL of those dimensions, because he created them . . . well, my shattered mind is re-blown.

But just getting back to the 4th dimension of time.  God exists beyond our conception of time.  He is not limited by time the way we are.  Someone described it to me once that when God looks at me, he doesn't see me in one moment, the way any other human being does.  When God looks at me, he sees the entire span of my life in that one glance.  The whole of it.  He can still deal with me in the moment -- just like I can deal with the stain on one surface of the three-dimensional object I am cleaning, but I never lose the ability to "see" that object in all three of its dimensions. 

This means, folks, that when God looks at me, he sees not only all of my past but all of my future in one sweep.  This means that all decisions he makes in regards to me -- people to bring into my life, tragedies to allow or to prevent -- are all made in terms of the entirety of my earthly existence, not this one moment. 

This means that, that morning when I was 41 weeks miserably pregnant with my eldest and struggled to get on my knees in tears and prayed, God, this is it.  I can't run my life.  I don't know enough, I'm not strong enough, I'm a complete failure at it.  Take me, please.  I put my life in your hands.  I desperately need you to be not just my Savior, but my Lord.  . . . he saw my broken self in that moment, but he also saw the entirely of my life in that moment.  He saw the rotten friend I was growing up.  He saw the selfish wife I had been.  But he also saw the selfish wife I was going to continue to be.  He saw the lousy mom I was going to become.  He saw the depressions I was going to plunge into, the ugly sins I would indulge in . . . he saw the period of my life when I would completely back away from that commitment and shake my fist in fury at Him, blaming him for everything.  He saw the ugliness in my heart that I had yet to see -- and ugliness I have yet to see now.  He saw the rotten moments still to come in my life that I shudder to think of.

He saw it all, in one sweep.  And he said, "Yep, I love her.  I love her enough to die for her."  I didn't have to clean myself up, become good enough to deserve it.  "But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us." 

It's all almost beyond conceiving.

The Voice of Darwin . . . Really?

I ordered this book that I heard about last week because the idea of it fascinated me. It's called I, Charles Darwin, by Nickell John Romjue. The premise is that Darwin returns to earth in 2009, the 150th anniversary of The Origin of Species. He reacts to all the discoveries of science since his death -- the complexity of the cell, the Cambrian explosion, the lack of transitional fossils found -- and bemoans the mindset of modern scientists who refuse to address the fact that this evidence calls his theory into serious question. He reads of the ways his theory has been used socially and politically to the detriment of humanity, and regards the lack of continued evolution of humanity with despair.

As I said, it sounded fascinating! Unfortunately, I was disappointed.

I don't want to pound on Romjue. He frames this as a journal written by Darwin himself, and it's possible that its style is modeled on Darwin's own writings. I have read very little of Darwin in his own words, mainly because what I did read was difficult to read. So, perhaps that accounts for my disappointment. Or it may also be because most of the information presented was familiar to me already.

But, I was hoping for a more exciting read. More emotion from the man. I would like to have actually "seen" his moments of discovery and "felt" the shock and disappointment and outrage he experienced. I guess I wanted a novel.

It also bugged me that some passages read like an essay on Darwinism that someone used a search-and-replace function on to make it first person. "With 'consilience', Darwin's theory became dogma, Origin and Descent annexed as texts of a Church of Darwin," becomes "With 'consilience', I became dogma . . . " Just awkward sounding. It doesn't sound like someone speaking. The voice is wrong. But as I said, maybe this is an accurate representation of Darwin's voice in writing.

There are a few shining moments. "What is my legacy? I am a founder, I am a destroyer," he says. But oh, I wanted to hear more from his heart after that realization.

I found myself wanting to rewrite the thing. I mean, it's a great idea for a book, yes? But it needs to be more accessible and attractive to the masses. More showing than telling. More story than lecture.

Or . . . maybe it needs to be a play? Hmmmm......

Extra-Sensory Perception

Just got back from taking the eldest to school and the neighbors' two dogs are in our front yard. First time that's happened in three years. I assume they'll corral them back pretty soon. They were having a regular sniff-fest on our lawn, feasting on the various scents our own mutt emits in the area.

I always wonder what information they get out of those smells that we can't decipher. I heard somewhere that they can identify who's been passing by, how long since they've been there, whether they be friend or foe . . . and probably, like, what they ate for dinner last night. I bet if these dogs could talk, they could tell by smelling our mutt's pee out there what's wrong in his digestic tract that has kept him from eating much these last few days and given him diarrhea. The vet and I would like to know.

How do their noses get this information? Do they have more receptors? Different kinds of receptors? Do their brains have more neurons firing in the olfactory mode? Are they born with more innate information about scents stored there for use later?

And dogs hear better, too -- hear sounds that we can't. That always freaks me out a bit to think that there are sounds out there in the stratosphere that no human can hear. Are there tastes in food that our taste buds are too limited to taste, that if we were aware of them, would stop us from eating things that are bad for us? Are there things to see out there that our visual systems don't physically register? Or maybe that they register but our brains can't make sense of, so it's as if we don't see them?

Might there be things in our environment that we could feel if the nerve endings in our skin were more sensitive or developed? Or that we would "feel" through a completely different organ altogether? Are there other senses that we simply aren't aware of? I read once that we only really use about 20% of our brain capacity -- who's to say that with the other 80% functioning, we might not discover some other ways of "knowing", ways of experiencing the world that have been closed to us?

Maybe we'd hear the voice of God, the way the Old Testament prophets did. Not through our ear canals, but through another "sense". Maybe we'd see the hand of God. Not by way of the optic nerve, but we'd just know it was there, like we know the color purple -- like we "feel" the air pressure drop, or "feel" a storm coming.

Kind of makes it easier to believe the miracles in the Bible without questioning. If my dog can smell how old the neighbor's cat is through its pee, why couldn't a God-man know a way to walk on water?

Don't Be So Sure

Sometimes, I'm a little distressed at how not scientifically-minded I am. Just as a matter of pride. I'm a relatively bright and certainly well-educated woman. Arrogant as it may sound, I like to think that I am capable of comprehending most complex subjects out there, given enough time and sufficient explanation.

But then I watch science specials on cable TV. Well, my husband is the one that chooses to watch them; in fact, he's watching one now (interestingly enough, it's on the History International channel -- the History Channels are as inappropriately named as MTV). Most often, I just happen to be in the room while they're on, but I usually give them a good hearing anyway. And I usually come away feeling like an idiot. All the talk about particles and dark matter and relativity and wormholes and my head is just spinning.

And I always wonder how much of this they know and how much of this they conjecture. I wonder this about a lot of science.

Steve Martin did an old sketch on Saturday Night Live called "Theodoric of York: Medieval Barber". Theodoric cut hair and practiced medicine, primarily in the form of a lot of bloodletting.

Theodoric: How's my little patient doing?
Joan: Not so well, I fear. We followed all your instructions -- I mixed powder of staghorn, gum of arabic with sheep's urine, and applied it in a poultice to her face.
Theodoric: And did you bury her up to her neck in the marsh and leave her overnight?
Joan: Oh, yes. But she still feels as listless as ever, if not more.
Theodoric: Well, let's give her another bloodletting . . .

They also used to drill holes in people's heads. And diagnose mental conditions by feeling the bumps on people's skulls. This was science.

Theodoric: You know, medicine is not an exact science, but we are learning all the time. Why, just fifty years ago, they thought a disease like your daughter's was caused by demonic possession or witchcraft. But nowadays, we know that Isabelle is suffering from an imbalance of body humors, perhaps caused by a toad or a small dwarf living in her stomach.

It seems to me that Science ceases to be Science when it becomes too sure of itself. When it stops challenging its own assumptions, it becomes . . . well, Religion, in the pejorative sense of the word. I have a feeling that our descendants will find our modern scientific arrogance as amusing as we find Theodoric of York fixing a couple broken legs with leeches on the forehead.