I suppose one of the greatest marvels about farm life, for a city boy like me, is the natural cycle of life and death, birth and growth – especially with cows and cats. And even I can appreciate the difference between these two: You can't have too many cows, but you can have too many cats.
In other words, a cow that calves yearly is worth its weight in gold, but a cat that has too many kittens is nuisance.
For myself, I love cats; and within reason, I can't have too many – especially if they are the mouse-munching and gopher-gobbling kind. Apart from saving major bucks on cat food, wiping out local vermin is very good for the land. I have never had mouse steak or gopher-gut stew (except in a movie), but it appears that cats relish such culinary delights. Good on them.
Our recent litter of kittens has given rise to this week's column. While weren't totally sure which of our lone two cats was the male, which was the female, we now know. (And, yes, we could have turned them upside down to examine the working parts, but we didn't.) "Mask" produced two grey kittens, a black one, and an almost totally white one. In fact, the birth is so recent, their eyes aren't even open as I write this.
I never fail to marvel when I see the hand of the Creator in the whole reproduction cycle – from the point of conception, through the whole pregnancy, right up to the time when the mother knows that it is time to steal away to some secluded and sheltered spot to give birth. Then beyond that, the consistent responsibility for caring (read: nursing and protecting and training) her newborns.
A recent birth of another calf in my little world has likewise prompted a myriad of questions: How do they know how to deliver? What gave them the drive to protect their young? How do the young know where and how to feed off their mother?
Personally, I have been sadly disappointed in science for years where looking for these answers, both when it comes to origin of life and rationale for living. When I see design in the sky, land, and sea, both in animate life as well as inanimate things, I become more and more convinced that there must be a Grand Designer out there. Apparently, faith and science don't mix, but for me, it take a huge leap of faith to think that something came from nothing.
We see it here everyday, from the seed in the spring to the harvest in the fall, from the application of water to the growth as a result, from the lessons that calves and foals and kittens teach us about natural life cycles. One doesn't need a science degree – or a theological degree, for that matter – to appreciate such wonders.
I don't know whether you come down on the side of chance, fluke, and millions of years, or you reckon something – or, better, Someone – is behind this great plan and order. When I see the creativity in the flora and fauna, I think of an Awesome Creator. When I see the details of even one cell, I think of an Competent Detailer. When I understand the mechanisms of all the human systems (eg., digestive, muscular, circulatory, etc.,), I have no doubt there is a Divine Mechanic at work.
No building, organization, or system would work effectively if there wasn't a blueprint or agenda. Likewise, whether I am marvelling at Mask's adorable kittens, or I am enjoying the bounty of my labour in my garden, it looks to me that there was an intelligent plan somewhere.
Personally, I sleep better at night, knowing that I am simply not a blob, a collection of cells that intriguingly function well together. Being right on original design adds worth to each individual human and animal and plant on our planet. It makes me take my role as a steward of this earth very seriously.
You see, a fluke makes everything cheap; a purpose makes everything valuable. Even a kitten.
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