My thoughts got deep today.  Over the last few years, I have been taking various courses and attending lectures regarding science now being able to prove evolution is false.  So, I got to thinking about all the children out there still learning about it.  Made me want to give a brief synopsis of what I've learned in case anyone is interested. 

     First of all, my credentials:  I actually have a Bachelor's in Anthropology, so I am quite familiar with the theory of evolution and studied it quite thoroughly to graduate with honors.  But, I'm also a Christian.  The Bible says God created the heavens and the earth and all inhabitants in six days.  Obviously, I thought the Bible was wrong when I was getting my degree in Anthropology.  Now, I'm a lawyer.  If you know anything about lawyers (and not from the jokes) then you know no lawyer is worth anything if they don't pick the dickens out of a problem and analyze it until there is nothing left.  Thus, I wanted to see who was right...God or Darwin. 

    I'm not the first person who has done this.  This is what I have gleaned in my pursuit to find truth, and I think I am qualified to base my assertions on the fact that I've been on both sides of the argument.  Anthropologists/Paleontologists create a theory and then find evidence to support their theory.  This is backwards reasoning and thus, not true science.  True science collects all the evidence and then makes a conclusion.  For example, a paleontologist finds a tooth and creates a whole sub-species of a human.  Off of a tooth.  Just a tooth, and you have knew species between ape and man.  A real scientist wouldn't make that conclusion unless he had the entire, and I mean entire, skeleton, as well as the skeleton of the species before and after it. 

     A real scientist can be described as a micro-biologist.  A micro-biologist deals more with evidence than theories.  The latest task was to see how small one can dissect a single cell.  One micro-biologist did just this.  Michael Behe coined the term "irreducible complexity."  He found a new way to view one of the smallest organisms there is on the earth.  A bacterial flagellum.  If we came from the goo to the zoo to the you, then we would have all had to start out as something even smaller than a single cell organism.  Behe dissected the single cell organism smaller than anyone ever has before.  And you know what he found?  That the tail of the organism is propelled by a rotor and shaft that is composed of more than 40 parts.  If you take one of those parts out, the whole cell ceases to function.  Do you see?  How can we have evolved (having a smaller whole than the whole that evolved) if missing a piece would mean not existing? 

    Behe's book is called Darwin's Black Box.  He originally started studying the single cell organism to prove up Darwin's theory thinking that it lacked proper scientific standing.  Now, he's disproved Darwin because he followed the facts, not the theories.  Evolution simply does not exist in light of his findings.  So, why are they still teaching it in our schools?

   Ben Stein has released a movie by the name of Expelled.  It's on this very topic.  Science has disproved evolution.  But, mainstream academics refuses to acknowledge such.  Maybe we should start getting our kids ready to know the truth.  And maybe they can make the difference.  But, our kids won't know unless we know first.  Truth is always found for those who seek it out themselves. 

What can I say? I'm big into prayer.  In the mornings, I tend to pray after I arrive in my little parking spot downtown before I make my brief daily appearance for work.  Even if I'm in a hurry, I still wait until I have the car parked.  Today, today reminds me of why I do that. 

     I just didn't feel like listening to the radio on the drive and took the quiet as an opportunity to do my daily prayers right then and there.  At first blush, I reckon I shouldn't have.  I didn't get very far.  I asked God to give me my daily dose of patience, and then someone cut me off and I went in a wee bit of a heated monologue directed at the other driver as if he could hear me.  Oops!  I was praying!!  So, I asked for patience again in light of my obvious lack of it.  And then someone stops short in front of me for a right turn in a driveway without their blinker.  Again, me and my heated comments, and oops!!  I was praying.

     Suffice it to say, that happened a few times before I finally reached my destination.  I must have asked for patience at least six times and it was the only thing I got a chance to communicate.  Wait a minute...maybe this was a good thing.  It wasn't as if patience was being withheld from me, it was more like it was being born in me. 

     So, yeah, I only got around to praying for one thing today.  But I think, I hope, it'll stick this time. 

  I walk by the Hall of Records downtown every morning as I scuttle into the courthouse to make my court appearances.  I noticed, recently, that the anterior paint has been changed from a pale and subtle pink to a pale and subtle baby blue.  Other than that, I had no real involvement with the building until last Thursday.  I was contracted to file a quitclaim deed and figured I'd pick up my newborn's birth certificate while I was there. 

   I walked in and was overcome with a sense of peace, gentleness, and feminine aura.  I figured it was the pink shelves and counters.  There was a whole lot of pink.  But, as I waited for the clerk to give me a stamped copy of the deed, I looked all around me and saw female after female after female.  When the clerk came back, I asked her, "Are there only women who work in this building?"

     "Yes.  Well, except for our supervisor hiding in that back office.  He's the only guy.  And he's looking at me right now, frowning."  She replied.

     And me, of course I can't keep my big mouth shut, so I said, "You can definitely feel the female presence in here.  It just feels like a perfect environment.  Quiet, friendly, just at peace with the world.  I can...I can...I can almost feel the SHE-POWER radiating around me." 

    It got a good chuckle from the five clerk's in earshot.  One of whom told me their supervisor was in near tears (the bad kind) at the comment.  Guess he knows it's true and didn't need some outsider to rally the troops against him any further. 

   I'm not picking on the male species here, I'm not.  But good mercy, it was a sublime experience.  There was an absolute sense of euphoria to that place. 

   As I walked back out I finally understood why the building had recently been painted.  The supervisor's one victory.

  It has indeed been many moons since I first saw the crossing guard guide children across Roberts Lane into Beardsley School. I drive by him each morning on my way to work, often being stopped by that red light at Roberts and Airport to let the children cross the street ever so slowly in complete un-anticipation of the school day ahead of them. But amongst all those small and sullen faces is the crossing guard. A gentleman who appears to be in his sixties, although I’d imagine he is probably older without looking a day over fifty.

Why do I feel it necessary to speak of this individual? Because he perplexes me so. He perplexes me on a daily basis. He perplexes me in a way that makes me look inside myself, and I am rarely willing to do that. He perplexes me because every time I see him, and exaggeration is not an option with this story, every time I see him, he is grinning from ear to ear. I often find myself at that stop light watching him hold up his ever symbolic red octagon with the word STOP upon it, while clenching a polished silver whistle in between his great white chompers. Yes, he still smiles while clenching the whistle between his teeth. 

As a natural pessimist, I found myself being drawn toward dissecting his smile from the get-go. Trying to find some sadistic reason why he could smile as much as he did. Was he on some sort of medication? Did he suffer some unusual face trauma where his face froze with a smile on it? No fool would be able to think so if you looked at this man long enough. His oddity was found in his genuine happiness. And as most of us can not help but stare at an accident on the side of the road, many of us can not help but stare at the rareness of someone genuinely smiling for no reason other than smiling in and of itself. When I first gave into the fact that this gentleman was truly full of joy, I could not help but smile myself. I began to look forward to driving to work simply because I knew a little bit of his joy will come my way, even though he does not know I exist.

It has been over a year now, since I first saw him, and I assure you he still smiles. He is smiling in September when mornings can start out at ninety degrees and he is smiling in January when mornings can start out at thirty. And yet, somehow the redundancy of it all has naturally made this incredible man lose the luster in my sights. Sometimes, I forget to notice. Sometimes, I am busy doing other things in my car. But, on those mornings when I am not applying my lipstick in the rear view mirror as I wait at the red light, and am mindful that he is present, I still study him vigorously.  

Why is it that a smile is so contagious? Because of its rarity these days? Or because it was crafted to do such contamination? I guess it does not really matter. I find myself not being accountable for the ‘why’s’ as much as I am for the ‘why not’s’. Why don’t I smile more often? Why can’t I find joy in my job if he can find joy in his? Why can’t I be remembered as an unusually happy person? I do not know the story of the crossing guard’s life. I only know that no human escapes life unscathed. And if he can smile so religiously, then my story is not over yet. My final page is not written as to whether or not my tragedies and triumphs will weigh a smile or frown upon my yet to be old and retired face. It’s a choice, isn’t it Mr. Crossing Guard? It’s a choice.

       My husband and I have a nice little schedule going on with our work schedules. Since I only work for a couple of hours in the early morning, he has taken a shift at his job that allows him to go in at eleven in the morning, well after I get home from my job. Needless to say, he’s in charge of our two little guys while I am at work. Charles, well, Charles has what I like to call…um…a punctuality problem. Myself, being the polar opposite, figure I’m late if I’m later than five minutes early. Let’s just leave it at it being an ongoing marital issue. At any rate, the one thing I don’t let slide in regards to his un-timeliness is making our son late for school, (even if it is only pre-school.) 

With the recent addition to our family of our second son only a few weeks ago, and seeing the way my four year old son reacts to his brother, I started to contemplate the pros and cons of both age groups. 

Newborn:  Pro  - Doesn't speak

Pre-schooler: Con - He speaks AND to add insult to injury, usually has an opinion.

Newborn: Con - Wakes up in the middle of the night and cries.

Pre-Schooler: Pro - He'll sleep through the night all right, but first he needs a glass of water, the nightlight turned on, the blanket pulled up two inches below his chin, and oh yeah, he's got to go to the bathroom once all the previous has been achieved just to have it all re-done again. 

Newborn: Con - Needs his diapers changed.

Pre-schooler: Pro - Gets his business done in the potty.  And the walls, and the floor, and that one horrible day when I didn't realize why he was calling the dog toilet until it was way too late. 

Newborn: Con - I have to get him dressed each morning.

Pre-schooler: Pro - He can get himself dressed...if I have an hour to spare and wait for it to miraculously happen. 

Newborn: Pro - Is pretty much totable to any location.

Pre-schooler: Con - Is only totable if there is a bribe involved.  And, again, that pesky opinion is usually inserted at some point between the house and car door. 

Did I  mention that I love both of my sons?  I do.  But, a girl's gotta vent.