O Ye of Little Faith

Let me just say as a man of faith, I believe in miracles.  While I do not understand how the Lord helped Moses part the Red Sea, I am convinced that it happened.  And though I’m not sure why the ravenous lions did not eat Daniel, or how Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego survived the firery furnace, however, as a person of faith I believe these phenomena actually happened as described in the scriptures.  I am surrounded by people of faith, especially my wife—the Shewolf.  She is truly a woman with a believing heart.  And so it is with literally every member of my family--as a group they are capable of believing the wondrous miracles recorded in holy writ. 

Knowing that my family is so willing to believe in the miracles of the Bible and the Restored gospel, I am intrigued and nonplussed as to why it is so difficult for them to believe the seemingly small miracles that occur in every-day life.  Just this morning I arose early, which I am wont to do, and discovered a veritable modern day miracle.  A pan of chocolate chip cookies apparently came out of the oven with a missing corner.  To me, this appeared to be nothing short of a miracle. How else to explain this kitchen oddity?  I, however, was immediately swarmed by people who choose to compartmentalize their faith, and instead of seeing an obvious miracle, replaced faith with accusations and the preternatural with doubt.  If all of the fantastic miracles accounted for in the scriptures are so readily believed by my loved ones, why the sudden crisis of faith when it comes to a pan of cookies?  Why discount and find unbelievable a pan that miraculously bakes cookies in a weird and inexplicable configuration?  This family conflict begs the question, "Which is harder, raising the dead, or baking cookies in an odd shape?" 

While accusations continue to be flung in my general direction for the simple reason that I discovered the pan of cookies with the missing corner, I remain strong, resilient, and even defiant in the face of these naysaying misanthropes.  Even if it wasn’t a miracle, why the hubris over a bit of cookie?  If this continues, I might just consider moving to the Deep South where I undoubtedly can find better friends and surround myself with people who will believe virtually anything—yes, those elect few who are capable of finding the face of Elvis in a grilled cheese sandwich or perhaps even the effigy of Pope Francis in a mutilated marshmallow.