Mystery, A Beautiful Thing

Quite recently I finished up a book i've been reading since the first frosty days of winter. I loaned it to a friend for a few months, then got it back in May, wrapping it up shortly after moving home. I've mentioned it here before, I think, "Two-Part Invention" by Madeline L'Engle. It's a wonderful, tragic, beautiful story.

Here's a section that I'm reflecting on now with great fondness:

"I do not want ever to be indifferent to the joys and beauties of this life. For through these, as through pain, we are enabled to see purpose in randomness, pattern in chaos. We do not have to understand in order to believe that behind the mystery and the fascination there is love.

In the midst of what we are going through this summer I have to hold onto this, to return to the eternal questions without demanding an answer. The questions worth asking are not answerable. Could we be fascinated by a Maker who was completely explained and understood? The mystery is tremendous, and the fascination that keeps me returning to the questions affirms that they are worth asking, and that any God worth believing in is the God not only of the immensities of the galaxies I rejoice in at night when I walk the dogs, but also the God of love who cares about the sufferings of us human beings and is here, with us, for us, in our pain and in our joy."

(p.123)