Things I Wish My Family Knew

When I look outside, I see trees, a pond, grass—natural things untouched by human hands. I take them in as they are. I don’t instinctively ask, “Who made this tree?” or “Why is this pond here?” I don’t question why one tree is shaped differently than another, or why the grass bends in a particular direction.

But then I notice a tractor parked in the tall grass nearby. Suddenly, my mind is filled with questions: Who made it? Why is it designed that way? Why are the tires so large? What function does each part serve? My curiosity is stirred by the tractor—something man-made. I look at it and see intentional design, purposeful structure, craftsmanship. I assume a creator. I search for meaning in its form.

Is that not a contradiction?

Why do I instinctively assign design and purpose to man-made things, but not to what is natural? Why don’t I ask those same questions of the tree, the pond, or the sky? Why is my curiosity so alive when I encounter the works of man, but so quiet when I behold the works of God?

Take a simple coffee cup—clearly designed by human hands. Every detail has intention behind it: the shape that fits the hand, the material that holds heat, the color chosen for aesthetic or branding. We don’t question that it was made on purpose, for a purpose.

How much more, then, should we look at the world around us and ask: What was God’s purpose in this? What is He showing me here?

Oh, to be as curious about God’s creation as we are about our own. To wonder at the way a tree bends, the migration of birds, the shape of a cloud, the instincts of an animal. To pursue an understanding not just of how things function, but why they were made that way. To seek out the order of creation, the intention behind it all—to see God’s fingerprints in every person, every creature, every blade of grass. Nothing is accidental. Nothing exists without purpose.

Even the things man creates—tractors, coffee cups, skyscrapers—ultimately serve God’s purpose. God, in His sovereignty, works through human hands. We are agents, but He is the Author.

Of course, it’s easy to believe this when we look at what is beautiful, useful, or pleasing. We see the sunrise, a laughing child, a well-engineered machine—and we’re quick to praise the design and the Designer.

But what about what is ugly? What of deformity, pain, or suffering? What of the things in nature or in man that evoke fear, sorrow, or even revulsion? What of evil?

How can these, too, be part of a good and sovereign God’s plan?

There is no satisfying answer apart from this: if God is truly sovereign, all-knowing, and perfectly good—then even these things, as difficult as they are to accept, must serve a purpose within His perfect will. We may not understand it. We may not even see the good in our lifetime. But we trust that it exists, because He exists, and He is good.

God wastes nothing—not beauty, not suffering, not even evil. In His hands, all things serve a purpose, and that purpose is ultimately good. The cross of Christ is our proof: what appeared to be the greatest injustice became the greatest act of love. What looked like defeat was, in fact, the very means of victory.

So let us look again—at the trees, the pond, the grass, the people around us, and even the pain—not with passive eyes, but with hearts awakened to truth. Let us observe all things as they are, asking not just “What is this?” but “Why is it this way?”—knowing that behind everything stands a wise and good Creator. Let us seek to discern His purpose, His design, His fingerprints. And in everything and everyone, may we see Him—His beauty, His order, His sovereignty. And seeing Him, may we be moved to wonder and to worship. For all things were made by Him, through Him, and for Him. And when we truly see, we cannot help but praise.

Iam Kerr