Silent Truths

The Great Chase

I spent years of my life on a chase—always stretching my hands toward the unseen, trying to grasp the mysteries of God, the strange and the supernatural. Faith, I thought, was about proving the magical. If I could only capture that proof, I would stand on firmer ground. But years slipped away while I was searching for what I thought I lacked.

It is only now, with the benefit of hindsight and the bruises of experience, that I see how much life was wasted in the pursuit. Not wasted because God is unworthy of pursuit—no, never that—but wasted because I missed the blazing evidence already all around me.

The mystical was not hiding in some distant experience; it was pulsing through every breath I took, every sunrise I ignored in my hurry to “find God.”

The heavens already declare His glory (Psalm 19:1). Yet how often do we squint past the heavens, searching for fire that never needed to fall?

Life Is Already the Miracle

Science whispers this same truth with the tongue of numbers and stars. Mathematicians find spirals in the seashell, the sunflower, and the galaxies above. Physics reveals particles that dance in quantum uncertainty until we glance their way. Astronomers chart billions of galaxies, each spilling over with a hundred billion suns, and still dare to call it “observable”—as if the rest isn’t there, shimmering beyond the veil.

Do you want the magical?

Here it is: hydrogen and oxygen colluding to make water, the only substance that expands when frozen so that lakes don’t kill the life within them every winter.

Here it is: DNA, a code of three billion letters, scripted in every one of your cells like divine poetry.

Here it is: your heart, beating 100,000 times a day without a single conscious command from you.

If one lived a thousand years, there would still be wonder enough to marvel at the folding of a single protein molecule. The universe is not poor in mystery—it is suffused with it.

Our poverty lies in blindness.

The Joy of Not Knowing

The younger chase answers as if joy lies in certainty. I chased too, and in my chase the years blurred by. But now I understand: joy is not the possession of answers, it is the reverence of questions.

Scripture tells us God has “set eternity in the human heart, yet no one can fathom what He has done from beginning to end” (Ecclesiastes 3:11). That is not a curse—it is a gift. We are built to hunger, to ask, to wrestle. And in that very hunger lies the texture of joy. Happiness is not domination over life but harmony with its unfolding.

Philosophers call it the chain of being, the Stoics called it the logos, the rational order that holds all things. Scripture calls it simply this:

“In Him we live and move and have our being” (Acts 17:28).

I used to think my role was to prove the chain existed. Now I see my role is far humbler: to accept my place in it.

To the Young and the Old

To those young and restless: do not waste your life waiting for lightning. You are already standing in the storm. The beauty you seek is in the laughter of your friends, in the taste of bread, in the brilliance of a night sky that doesn’t need you to explain it in order to dazzle you. The mystical is not tomorrow—it is today.

And to those nearing the dusk: you have not missed the magic. It has been with you all along, in the ordinary that was never ordinary. Do not mourn the miracles you thought you lacked. Every tear you shed, every sunrise you woke beneath, every small kindness you gave or received—those were the mysteries. You were already in the miracle.

Stop Searching, Start Seeing

The great tragedy is not that we lack the magical. The tragedy is that we overlook it. Life itself is the miracle, and our relentless chase for proof blinds us to the glory of simply being alive within it.

Stop searching so hard for the mystical that you miss the miracle. The joy of existence is not in conquering its mysteries, but in marveling at them, breath by breath, step by step, until your final breath joins the great chain of being, and your wonder folds into eternity.