Why, then, had so many people focused on the wrong side of things and taught it to her? Why was the miracle of Christ presented as something simple, something easy, something to be taken for granted and not even thought about overmuch, while so much attention was given to arguing about the things they could easily discover with a telescope or microscope? It seemed to her that there were mysteries enough to contemplate about the divine nature of God and Christ to keep one busy for a lifetime—just as there were things enough to learn about their world through observation, which didn’t need to be debated so much as explored.

She’d thought she had to choose one or the other. That she couldn’t have both faith in what she couldn’t see and understanding of what she could. That if what she learned of the world didn’t agree with the things she’d been taught to believe, she must choose between belief and observation. Why had it never occurred to her that the problem wasn’t with the beliefs, as Oliver had said, but with the interpretation? That God was bigger than man’s finite understanding of Him and of His Word? That it was people, not the Lord, who tried to make her choose?

“There now.” The hand she held squeezed her fingers, relaxed again. “I knew you would see. A heart like yours that wants to understand the world around her cannot help but see when it goes earnestly looking.”

“I think I’d been afraid to look too closely. Afraid I couldn’t accept the answers—that God would demand I accept this world on faith that it works and never ask how it does.”

Mamm-wynn chuckled and let her eyes slide shut again. “But then there are the Daniels in history—the ones who make their fame with both prophetic visions and earthly knowledge. They can be your model. Your hope.”

“You’re very wise, Mamm-wynn.” Libby leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I see where Oliver gets it.”

That the lens of the spirit was to faith what her microscope was to the world—that was a thought that brought unspeakable peace to her mind. More, it was one that made her crave both lenses—the physical and the spiritual. Knowing God didn’t mind her understanding the one made her long to know more about the other.

“Will you sing to me?” Mamm-wynn’s eyes were closed fully again, and she repositioned herself a bit against her pillow. “It’s been so long since I’ve heard you.”

Had she ever? In church, perhaps. But then, Mamm-wynn didn’t seem to be limited by what Libby remembered as the past. A mystery she could either call madness or accept as a part of this woman she’d so quickly come to love. “What would you like to hear? A hymn?”