The Gift
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"The Gift" by Keith Hewitt
* * * * * * *
The Gift
by Keith Hewitt
Psalm 104
“If you don’t mind me saying so, you’ve been looking troubled for the last few weeks,” a voice said behind him, as John Randall-Todd pondered the view on the monitor at the front of the wardroom.
Without looking, he replied, “If you don’t mind me saying so, you’re trying to justify to NASA the cost of sending a psychologist on a deep space mission, when there were physicists, astronomers, geologists, climatologists, and engineers lined up twelve-deep for every slot on this ship.” He did look, then, and smiled to take the edge off his answer.
“It wasn’t a hard sell,” Doctor Polk answered almost at once. “With a crew spending years cooped up in close quarters--and these are close quarters, no matter what the old astronauts say--there were bound to be problems. Some that self-identified, and some that only a professional would spot. Somebody had to come along to keep everyone sane.” Polk paused, sipped from a bulb of green tea, and shrugged. “Or sane-ish, anyway.”
“And that just happened to be you?”
Another shrug. “There weren’t many psychologists anxious to commit half a decade of their lives to riding in this flying tin can. Most of us are too well-adjusted to want to do something like that. I happened to be OK with it, and I was in reasonably good health.”
“If the rest are too well-adjusted, what does that say about you, then, Doctor Polk?”
“That my scientific curiosity got the better of me. That I realized you all might need help. Or maybe I want my hypothetical future children to think of their mom as a hero--on the crew of the first manned flight to the Jupiter system.” She took another sip of tea, pointed to him with the tip of the nipple. “And you, Doctor Randall-Todd, are avoiding the question. Very clever.”
“No--just ignoring it.” He gestured toward the monitor. “For the last week I’ve been bothered by a sense of déjà vu--every time I looked at the screen, I had the feeling that I’ve seen it before--that I’ve been here before.”
“Not surprising. We’ve all seen the pictures of Europa from every space probe in the last sixty years.” She studied the monitor herself, then, and said absently as she looked at the light colored sphere, marred by dark scratches and blotches on an otherwise featureless surface, “It’s beautiful, you know. I see it, myself. Beautiful and mysterious. I understand why it drew you here.”
“Well, the pictures weren’t it--the feeling was deeper than that, and this morning I realized what it was. Took me awhile to tease it out, but sitting here, eating breakfast while I watched it grow ever so slightly with every minute, I suddenly remembered.” He smile crookedly. “You’re going to like this one, Doctor Polk.”
“Go on.”
“At my grandparents’ house, back in Wisconsin, they had a rec room in the basement. A recreation room, they used to call it. A place for games and what have you. It was nothing fancy, just a large room with a concrete floor--and a pool table. My grandfather taught us to shoot pool on that table.”
Doctor Polk started to speak, hesitated for a moment when she saw his expression: for a moment, he was decades and millions of miles away, playing pool in his grandparents’ basement. After a decent time, she said, “Yes, and?”
“The cue ball he had was older than me--and you could tell. Years of bouncing off the table on the concrete floor, all the times it was hit with the cue?you could see them all on that ball. It was this white, perfect sphere--only the surface was marred by years of wear. This morning I realized that’s what Europa reminded me of. The ice makes it seem like it should be perfectly, uniformly smooth, only there are all the deformations on it. It was bothering me to look at it, there, for awhile--but now that I know, it’s OK.”
“I see. And that’s it?”
He looked surprised. “Should there be something else?”
“I don’t know. I just thought, you know, that maybe it was starting to get to you.”
“That what was starting to get to me?”
“The last probe, before it died. Those readings it sent back sure seemed to say that there might be life on that rock, out there. And I thought maybe that was starting to bother you.”
He looked at her curiously. “Why on earth would that bother me?”
“Well--because it’s not on Earth, John. I know you have certain deeply held personal beliefs?” She trailed off.
“You mean because I come from a long line of pastors? Or that I’ve made no secret of my faith?”
“Well--yes,” she said quietly. “I know some of your colleagues even wondered whether you were a good fit for this mission.”
He smiled. “I’m a big boy, Janet. I came to terms with this a long time ago. Yes, I believe that our planet--our universe was created by God. When you look at Earth, alone--the diversity of life, the way everything just fits together?the way the whole planet seems to be an engine for sustaining life?when you consider the odds of all that happening at random?I think it’s far more reasonable to believe in a Creator than it is to believe that something came from nothing, and that it developed into more and more complex systems without direction.”
She nodded. “I’ve read your papers. Compelling. Not convincing, necessarily, but compelling.”
“Then you ought to know where I come from. I may be a scientist--an astronomer--but all that means is I have that much deeper appreciation for the signs of God’s handiwork around me. When I look at the sky--at the planets of our solar system, the moons like Europa, there--when I realize how related they all are, even while they’re different, I can’t help but see the hand of God.”
“But your faith tells you that God created life on earth, and if that’s true--“
“It is.”
“--then doesn’t the possibility of finding life somewhere else take away from the idea that Earth?that life on Earth?is God’s special creation?”
“Far from it, Janet. If anything, it would reinforce my faith--it would mean that the miracle of life, like so many other miracles--is consistent throughout the universe. At least, our corner of it.”
When she didn’t respond, he started to speak, stopped, then spoke again. “Look--do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“One--a brother, younger than me.”
“Does the fact that your parents had two children--created two children--in any way take away from your existence? Does it make you question whether or not you’re special? Do you feel cheated, knowing there are two of you?”
“Well--no. I suppose not.”
“I don’t know what we’re going to find under the ice. Maybe nothing, maybe some kind of algae-like life--or maybe something much more complex. But whatever we find, I’m going to know that God put it there. And I’m going to celebrate the glory of this new world that is being opened up to us.” He shrugged. “I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to get there and see what surprises God has in store for us.”
“What do you think we’ll find?”
He was silent for a bit, then, as he watched the globe of Europa swell ever more slightly in the monitor. Finally, he said quietly, “Wonder. That’s what we’ll find down there, because wonder is God’s gift to us?and the way we say thank you is by doing our best to unwrap it.”
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). Keith's newest book NaTiVity Dramas: The Third Season will be published September 2012. He is a local pastor, co-youth leader, former Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife, two children, and assorted dogs and cats.
*****************************************
StoryShare, May 24, 2015, issue.
Copyright 2015 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
"The Gift" by Keith Hewitt
* * * * * * *
The Gift
by Keith Hewitt
Psalm 104
“If you don’t mind me saying so, you’ve been looking troubled for the last few weeks,” a voice said behind him, as John Randall-Todd pondered the view on the monitor at the front of the wardroom.
Without looking, he replied, “If you don’t mind me saying so, you’re trying to justify to NASA the cost of sending a psychologist on a deep space mission, when there were physicists, astronomers, geologists, climatologists, and engineers lined up twelve-deep for every slot on this ship.” He did look, then, and smiled to take the edge off his answer.
“It wasn’t a hard sell,” Doctor Polk answered almost at once. “With a crew spending years cooped up in close quarters--and these are close quarters, no matter what the old astronauts say--there were bound to be problems. Some that self-identified, and some that only a professional would spot. Somebody had to come along to keep everyone sane.” Polk paused, sipped from a bulb of green tea, and shrugged. “Or sane-ish, anyway.”
“And that just happened to be you?”
Another shrug. “There weren’t many psychologists anxious to commit half a decade of their lives to riding in this flying tin can. Most of us are too well-adjusted to want to do something like that. I happened to be OK with it, and I was in reasonably good health.”
“If the rest are too well-adjusted, what does that say about you, then, Doctor Polk?”
“That my scientific curiosity got the better of me. That I realized you all might need help. Or maybe I want my hypothetical future children to think of their mom as a hero--on the crew of the first manned flight to the Jupiter system.” She took another sip of tea, pointed to him with the tip of the nipple. “And you, Doctor Randall-Todd, are avoiding the question. Very clever.”
“No--just ignoring it.” He gestured toward the monitor. “For the last week I’ve been bothered by a sense of déjà vu--every time I looked at the screen, I had the feeling that I’ve seen it before--that I’ve been here before.”
“Not surprising. We’ve all seen the pictures of Europa from every space probe in the last sixty years.” She studied the monitor herself, then, and said absently as she looked at the light colored sphere, marred by dark scratches and blotches on an otherwise featureless surface, “It’s beautiful, you know. I see it, myself. Beautiful and mysterious. I understand why it drew you here.”
“Well, the pictures weren’t it--the feeling was deeper than that, and this morning I realized what it was. Took me awhile to tease it out, but sitting here, eating breakfast while I watched it grow ever so slightly with every minute, I suddenly remembered.” He smile crookedly. “You’re going to like this one, Doctor Polk.”
“Go on.”
“At my grandparents’ house, back in Wisconsin, they had a rec room in the basement. A recreation room, they used to call it. A place for games and what have you. It was nothing fancy, just a large room with a concrete floor--and a pool table. My grandfather taught us to shoot pool on that table.”
Doctor Polk started to speak, hesitated for a moment when she saw his expression: for a moment, he was decades and millions of miles away, playing pool in his grandparents’ basement. After a decent time, she said, “Yes, and?”
“The cue ball he had was older than me--and you could tell. Years of bouncing off the table on the concrete floor, all the times it was hit with the cue?you could see them all on that ball. It was this white, perfect sphere--only the surface was marred by years of wear. This morning I realized that’s what Europa reminded me of. The ice makes it seem like it should be perfectly, uniformly smooth, only there are all the deformations on it. It was bothering me to look at it, there, for awhile--but now that I know, it’s OK.”
“I see. And that’s it?”
He looked surprised. “Should there be something else?”
“I don’t know. I just thought, you know, that maybe it was starting to get to you.”
“That what was starting to get to me?”
“The last probe, before it died. Those readings it sent back sure seemed to say that there might be life on that rock, out there. And I thought maybe that was starting to bother you.”
He looked at her curiously. “Why on earth would that bother me?”
“Well--because it’s not on Earth, John. I know you have certain deeply held personal beliefs?” She trailed off.
“You mean because I come from a long line of pastors? Or that I’ve made no secret of my faith?”
“Well--yes,” she said quietly. “I know some of your colleagues even wondered whether you were a good fit for this mission.”
He smiled. “I’m a big boy, Janet. I came to terms with this a long time ago. Yes, I believe that our planet--our universe was created by God. When you look at Earth, alone--the diversity of life, the way everything just fits together?the way the whole planet seems to be an engine for sustaining life?when you consider the odds of all that happening at random?I think it’s far more reasonable to believe in a Creator than it is to believe that something came from nothing, and that it developed into more and more complex systems without direction.”
She nodded. “I’ve read your papers. Compelling. Not convincing, necessarily, but compelling.”
“Then you ought to know where I come from. I may be a scientist--an astronomer--but all that means is I have that much deeper appreciation for the signs of God’s handiwork around me. When I look at the sky--at the planets of our solar system, the moons like Europa, there--when I realize how related they all are, even while they’re different, I can’t help but see the hand of God.”
“But your faith tells you that God created life on earth, and if that’s true--“
“It is.”
“--then doesn’t the possibility of finding life somewhere else take away from the idea that Earth?that life on Earth?is God’s special creation?”
“Far from it, Janet. If anything, it would reinforce my faith--it would mean that the miracle of life, like so many other miracles--is consistent throughout the universe. At least, our corner of it.”
When she didn’t respond, he started to speak, stopped, then spoke again. “Look--do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“One--a brother, younger than me.”
“Does the fact that your parents had two children--created two children--in any way take away from your existence? Does it make you question whether or not you’re special? Do you feel cheated, knowing there are two of you?”
“Well--no. I suppose not.”
“I don’t know what we’re going to find under the ice. Maybe nothing, maybe some kind of algae-like life--or maybe something much more complex. But whatever we find, I’m going to know that God put it there. And I’m going to celebrate the glory of this new world that is being opened up to us.” He shrugged. “I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to get there and see what surprises God has in store for us.”
“What do you think we’ll find?”
He was silent for a bit, then, as he watched the globe of Europa swell ever more slightly in the monitor. Finally, he said quietly, “Wonder. That’s what we’ll find down there, because wonder is God’s gift to us?and the way we say thank you is by doing our best to unwrap it.”
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). Keith's newest book NaTiVity Dramas: The Third Season will be published September 2012. He is a local pastor, co-youth leader, former Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife, two children, and assorted dogs and cats.
*****************************************
StoryShare, May 24, 2015, issue.
Copyright 2015 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
