They think it should be so easy. Not the figuring out. They know that's hard. They understand the years at sea, the collections of shells, all the bird watching. Now, when I talk about evolution, they realize what it all means, the point of it all.
They tell me I should hurry up and publish my work. Others have papers in the works and if they beat me to it, they could set back science by years. They're getting it wrong. I know this.
In science, it can happen this way. The more we study, the more complicated it becomes until suddenly, a piece falls into place and answers several questions at once, answers questions we were not even asking.
I know what I have to do, but I don't want to work in haste. I'm checking and double checking.
Because when it's out there, I know what will happen. I am not a man of faith and the implications that God did not create us directly, that we were not formed out of earth, molded in his hands, these will not concern me.
But Emma believes. And when our son died, her faith kept her alive, though I never understood it. And I love her. And I don't care about the church, about the righteous ministers, about the way they will hate me. But she deserves more. She will grieve all over again. She will wonder where our son is if not In heaven.
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