The Journey

There was a time when I thought the universe was little more than a grand accident—a cosmic machine powered by random forces, stitched together by chance, and governed by cold, impersonal laws. I saw science as the only lens worth trusting, and religion? At best, it seemed outdated. At worst, a tool people used to judge, divide, or feel superior.

 

But science, interestingly, didn’t lead me away from belief. It brought me to the edge of it.

​

I loved learning how the universe worked. From the elegance of mathematics—like the Golden Ratio found in everything from galaxies to seashells—to the intricacy of DNA’s double helix, there was a beauty and precision that kept drawing me in. These patterns didn’t just look designed—they functioned with a kind of intentional logic.

 

The deeper I explored, the more I encountered astonishing biological mechanisms.

 

Like the bacterial flagellar motor, a microscopic rotary engine embedded in certain cells that spins up to 100,000 RPM to propel bacteria through liquid. It has components that resemble a human-designed machine: a rotor, stator, drive shaft, and propeller—all self-assembling and incredibly precise. Then there’s ATP synthase, another tiny rotary motor found in nearly every living cell. It produces ATP (Adenosine triphosphate)—the energy every organism needs to function—by spinning like a molecular turbine. Or the DNA helicase, it’s the enzyme that “unzips” the DNA double helix, carefully separating the strands so the full set of genetic instructions can be read and copied—much like opening a zip file on a computer to access all of its contents, only this process happens with extraordinary precision and perfect timing, built into every step. 

​

The more I learned, the less random it all felt. These weren’t just accidents of chemistry—they carried the fingerprint of something greater. It began to seem like behind the formulas and physical laws, there was intelligence, purpose, even design.

I remember listening to Lawrence Krauss, a theoretical physicist and cosmologist, discuss the origins of the elements that make up our bodies. He explained how every atom in our bodies came from stars that exploded:

​

“Every atom in your body came from a star that exploded. And, the atoms in your left hand probably came from a different star than your right hand. It really is the most poetic thing I know about physics: You are all stardust. You couldn’t be here if stars hadn’t exploded, because the elements - the carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, iron, all the things that matter for evolution and for life - weren’t created at the beginning of time. They were created in the nuclear furnaces of stars, and the only way for them to get into your body is if those stars were kind enough to explode. So, forget Jesus. The stars died so that you could be here today.”

 

And he was right—in a material sense. But that idea didn’t begin with physics. Thousands of years ago, Genesis 2:7 already gave us a richer picture:

​

"Then the Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and man became a living soul."

​

Not just dust, but dust with breath. With soul. With meaning. What stood out even more was how Lawrence Krauss's statement shifted from poetic awe to a clear mockery of Jesus, using science not just to explain life, but to dismiss the very foundation of faith how life came to be. Why?

 

The more I understood what science reveals, the more I began to see something beyond it. As I explored the details of the universe—its fine-tuned laws, the complexity of DNA, and the way biological machines function—I couldn’t help but sense that there was more at work than just chance. It’s like discovering an engine that works perfectly with all its components, built for a specific purpose, and then being told it simply emerged from chaos—assembled on its own, with no engineer, just by chance. I began to understand what Albert Einstein meant when he said:

 

“Everyone who is seriously involved in the pursuit of science becomes convinced that a spirit is manifest in the laws of the universe—a spirit vastly superior to that of man.”

 

That same Einstein also warned:

 

“Science without religion is lame, religion without science is blind.”

 

Einstein, one of the most revered intellects in human history, saw the fingerprints of something greater woven into the fabric of reality. And yet, Richard Dawkins a British evolutionary biologist, zoologist and science communicator, being one of today’s most well-known atheist voices, completely disagrees. In stark contrast, he once wrote:

​

“To an honest judge, the alleged convergence between religion and science is a shallow, empty, hollow, spin-doctored sham.”

 

Two of the most prestigious thinkers of their time—Einstein and Dawkins—looking at the same universe, yet arriving at radically different conclusions. That alone made me pause.

 

If the issue isn’t intelligence, maybe it’s interpretation. Maybe the dividing line isn’t science versus religion—but the lens through which we choose to view meaning, purpose, and truth. John Lennox framed my thoughts perfectly:

 

“There is a real conflict, but it is not science versus religion. It is theism versus atheism, and there are scientists on both sides.”

​

And then biology deepened the mystery even more.

 

When I first learned about DNA—the molecular language that programs life—I was awestruck. But it wasn’t just the complexity that stunned me. It was the fact that information—not just matter and energy—was at the center of life itself. It's not just chemical components, but instructions, like code in a computer program. This code directs how cells grow, function, and repair themselves. It doesn’t just exist—it communicates. Biologist Stephen C. Meyer said it best:

 

“At the close of the nineteenth century, most biologists thought life consisted solely of matter and energy. But after Watson and Crick, biologists came to recognize the importance of a third fundamental entity in living things: information.”

​

So the question becomes: Where did that information come from? And where there is meaningful information, there’s always a mind behind it. We see this in every area of life—books have authors, blueprints have architects, code has programmers, paintings have artists, music has composers, and laws have lawmakers and so much more. So when we look at something as complex and purposeful as DNA—a biological language filled with instructions for life—it’s only reasonable to ask: Who wrote it? As John Lennox put it:

​

“Men became scientific because they expected law in nature, and they expected law in nature because they believed in a lawgiver.”

​

And that lawgiver? He’s not just a placeholder for gaps in knowledge. He’s the very reason anything makes sense at all. As philosopher Richard Swinburne powerfully expressed:

​

“I am not postulating a ‘God of the gaps’, a god merely to explain the things that science has not yet explained. I am postulating a God to explain why science explains; I do not deny that science explains, but I postulate God to explain why science explains.”

​

Still, not everyone who encounters the wonder of the cosmos comes to the same conclusion. Dawkins once said:

​

“What I can't understand is why you can't see the extraordinary beauty of the idea that life started from nothing – that is such a staggering, elegant, beautiful thing, why would you want to clutter it up with something so messy as a God?"

​

And in that one sentence, I saw two worldviews collide: one in awe of elegant nothingness, and another that finds beauty in intentional creation. I couldn’t see belief in God as “clutter”—I saw it as coherence. As clarity. As relationship.

​

I also began to realize that much of what I thought was religion… wasn’t. I had misunderstood it. I thought it was just rule-keeping, tradition, people saying “God” but acting nothing like Him. And to be fair, many do. But faith in its true form isn’t about control or superiority. It’s about transformation. As C.S. Lewis once said:

​

“The Christian does not think God will love us because we are good, but that God will make us good because He loves us.”

 

And sometimes it takes a little humor to expose the truth as Garrison Keillor added:

​

“Anyone who thinks sitting in church can make you a Christian must also think that sitting in a garage can make you a car.”

​

Religion, at its best, is not a performance—it’s a relationship. A surrender. A journey. It’s not about status, image, or tradition for tradition’s sake. In fact, God Himself has made it clear throughout Scripture that He’s not impressed by hollow rituals or religious behavior without heart and sincerity. Verses like Hosea 6:6 remind us:

​

“For I desire mercy, not sacrifice, and acknowledgment of God rather than burnt offerings.”

​

Again and again, from the prophets to the Psalms, God says He doesn’t want empty religious motions—He wants transformed lives. As Isaiah 1 and Micah 6 echo, God cares more about justice, mercy, and humility than burnt offerings or ceremonies. In other words, what God considers “true religion” isn’t about appearance—it’s about compassion, truth, and a heart aligned with His. James 1:27 puts it plainly:

​

“Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.”

​

That kind of religion isn’t self-righteous or performative—it’s compassionate, humble, and transformative. It flows from the heart of someone who knows they’ve been loved first. And while many still use “religion” to justify all sorts of nonsense—twisting it for control, power, or personal gain—truth still matters, no matter who’s speaking. As John Lennox rightly warns:

​

“Nonsense remains nonsense, even when talked by world-famous scientists.”

 

That line stuck with me. Because even in an age of credentials and celebrity thinkers, not everything labeled “truth” is worth believing. And not everything spiritual is irrational. Some things may sound sophisticated but are hollow. Others may sound simple—but hold eternal weight.

 

So where did this leave me?

​

Strangely, more grounded—and more open than ever. I now believe we are not here by accident. We are not just the products of time, matter, and chance. We are the result of design, of intention, of love. Yes, we are made of stardust—but it was God who spoke the stars into being. The stardust may have provided the elements, but something greater gave them purpose. There’s a Spirit behind the laws. A Mind behind the mathematics. A Creator who not only formed the universe, but breathed life into us—dust made alive. As it says in Genesis 3:19, “for dust you are and to dust you will return.” Yet in between, God gave that dust purpose, identity, and breath.

 

Science brought me closer to wonder. Theology brought me closer to meaning. And faith made it all personal.

​

As I reflect on this journey, I’ve come to realize that faith isn’t about meeting a checklist of rules to earn God’s love—it’s about embracing the love He’s already offered, freely and fully, through Jesus. This love doesn’t demand perfection. It invites us into grace, into transformation, into relationship.

​

When we finally understand that God’s forgiveness and presence aren’t earned, but given, we find a new kind of freedom. A peace that doesn’t depend on performance. A connection that goes deeper than belief—it becomes trust.

 

That’s the love Jesus came to reveal. The kind of love that meets us in our dust and breathes life. The kind of love that doesn’t guilt us into religion, but invites us into a relationship.

​

And when you truly experience that kind of love—not one you have to earn, but one that’s already been given—it doesn’t lead to guilt or pressure. It stirs something deeper: gratitude, and a desire to respond with genuine love in return. Unconditional love. Isn’t that the kind of love we all long for? A love that sees us completely, yet doesn’t turn away. A love that gives us worth, not because of what we’ve done, but because of who we are.

​

That’s the love I found in Jesus—and that’s what moved me to share all of this. Not to preach. Not to convince. But simply to invite anyone who’s searching, questioning, or quietly wondering… to explore the truth for themselves.

 

Because if this love is real—and I believe it is—it changes everything and it must be shared.