They could see it clearly, and they understood.
But that wasn’t all I’d promised as proof.
I turned the robot to face all of them as they watched me from the observatory decks of both platform buggies.
In my mind, I took a deep breath. Breathing was one of the few things I did better in my own crippled body than I did in the robot body. Still, just thinking of breathing helped me concentrate. I wanted to do this right. I wanted to be able to lead them to the dome across the packed sand of the desert that let this robot run like it was a leopard.
All eyes were on me as I began to deliver on my promise to them.
I switched the small solar panel wheel from my right hand into my left hand, so that my left hand held all three wheels.
Then I tossed one of the small solar panel wheels in the air with my left hand. I caught it with my right, but as I was catching that wheel, I tossed the second wheel from my left hand into the air. A split second later, I tossed the third wheel.
And just like that, I was juggling.
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We did it. We made it back to the dome just in
time.
All of us worked together to fix the solar
panels and give oxygen to the people who were on
the verge of slipping away.
I was right. Microscopic sand particles were
the problem. It had taken years and years, but
eventually the buildup of sand and the wearing
down of the ball bearings had made the solar
panel wheels drag just slightly—enough to throw
off the panel angles. So now that the ball
bearings have been fixed, there’s no longer a
danger of anyone dying from lack of oxygen.
After the immediate threat of death was gone,
the people turned their attention elsewhere . . .
to Director Steven.
Everybody under the dome is angry at him. And
who can blame them? In the same way that he used
my body as an experiment by forcing my mom to let
a surgeon put a rod in my spine, Director Steven
used all of the tekkies and workers as pieces of
a puzzle, shifting them around to suit what he
thought the Project needed. Whether he was right
or wrong, the dome scientists disagree.
But the fact is, no one trusts him now. Soon
the next supply ship will arrive. When it leaves
to go back to Earth, he’ll be shipped back with
it. Rawling has been voted in as the new Mars
I do feel sorry for ex-Director Steven. He
faced a difficult decision in trying to choose
who should live and who should die. But I think
that was just it. He made the decision without
talking to anyone, as if he were trying to be God.
After facing death, learning how I really
became crippled, and seeing my mom’s willingness
to sacrifice her life for me, I’m a lot more open
about that subject too.
The subject of God.
Mom has always said faith is a sure hope in
things unseen.
I’ve decided that just because I can’t find a
way to measure the existence of God, it doesn’t
mean he isn’t there.
And it’s the same thing with the soul.
Actually, all of this has helped me stop
feeling sorry for myself in my wheelchair. I’ve
realized something.
All of us, even the best athletes, are
imprisoned by our bodies. Against our will, our
bodies will someday grow old or sick. And, sadly,
our bodies will die.
When I think of it that way, I’m in the same
prison you are. Sure, in an uncrippled body, your
prison cell might be bigger and brighter, but not
by much. You can run at eight miles an hour, and
I can only roll along in my wheelchair at three
miles an hour, and in my robot body I can go
three times as fast as you. But all of those
speeds are so tiny compared to the vastness of
the universe that it doesn’t matter at all who’s
faster.
But what I’ve begun to understand is that,
although we’re stuck in our bodies, we can have
freedom of the soul. The kind of freedom my mom
don’t know how she got it, but maybe someday I’ll
find out for myself.
. . . Anyway, I’ve got to shut down this computer and go. Rawling—I mean, Director
Rawling—is yelling to me about someone seeing
aliens outside of the dome.
Ha. Aliens. Not very likely.
But Rawling is insisting I get into the robot
body and do a quick search.
Although I’m excited about getting outside on
the surface of Mars again, I’m not expecting to
find anything.
Everybody knows there aren’t any aliens on
Mars.
Right?
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Does God really exist?
Tyce Sanders wondered, and you might, too. As Tyce points out in this book, if you’re looking for measured proof that God exists, science has been unable to find it.
Or has it?
For centuries, science and faith have seemed to be poles apart.
Much of this happened because of how the church in Rome treated a scientist named Galileo in the early 1700s. Galileo publicly supported a new theory that the Earth revolved around the sun. But the church insisted the Bible said otherwise. As a result, the pope punished Galileo—he even threatened to have Galileo killed unless he began to teach again that the sun revolved around the Earth. From that point on, many “religious”
people saw scientists as people who wanted to attack religion; and scientists became anti-religion.
What the people didn’t know was that someday Galileo, who deeply believed in God, would be known as one of the greatest scientists of all time. He foresaw that a new invention, the telescope, would prove the church wrong—as it did. He wanted to save them from the embarrassment of supporting the wrong theory. But they wouldn’t listen.
Because of this divide, it seems that we today have two choices: accept God on the merit of faith, choosing to believe what the Bible says (that God does exist and loves us
individually) or believe what science claims to prove (that there is no God).
However, over the last fifty years, science has admitted that every discovery leads to more questions than answers. A century ago, many scientists believed they were on the verge of knowing all the answers regarding how we arrived on this planet called Earth. Now scientists say that the more they discover, the more they discover they don’t know.
For example, if the force of gravity were slightly less, the universe would collapse on itself, like a balloon with the air sucked out of it. If the force of gravity were slightly more, it would have drifted apart as gases, instead of forming solids. If the force that held protons and electrons together were the slightest bit weaker, hydrogen would not exist, and therefore water would not exist, and therefore life would not exist. At all levels, it seems that coincidence after coincidence after coincidence has made human life possible in a lonely, cold universe.1
Yet are they coincidences? Scientists have tried different computer models to simulate the creation of a universe that could sustain life. They can only find one model that works: ours, with the incredible adjustments of creation that truly are difficult to believe as mere concidence. As a result, many scientists are led to faith in God because of what
they see in the universe—an amazingly complex interworking of humans, plants, animals, stars, etc. It can only be the product of careful design by a loving creator.
Many scientists now believe that the fifteen-billion-year construction of the universe has had one goal: producing human life. Now that should make you feel special! Science is proving that the odds of human life being produced by chance are like winning the same ten-million-dollar lottery every week for the next year. (That’s a big win!) So the next time you hear people complain that they didn’t win the lottery, tell them they already did.
It’s true that belief in God truly takes a leap of faith, and, as Tyce told his mother, no one can force you to believe. Yet every year we see further proof that science—and reason—no longer stand in the way of a belief in God as the creator of this universe.
1 For a full list of these “coincidences,” read the book Universes, by John Leslie (London: Routledge, 1989). For further reading, check out God, The Evidence, by Patrick Glynn (Prima Publishing, 1997).
What an awesome thought—that a loving God created and sustains the universe, and cares for you personally!
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Sigmund Brouwer and his wife, recording artist Cindy Morgan, split living between Red Deer, Alberta, Canada, and Nashville, Tennessee.
He has written several series of juvenile fiction and eight novels.
Sigmund loves sports and plays golf and hockey. He also enjoys visiting schools to talk about books. He welcomes visitors to his Web site at www.coolreading.com, where he and a bunch of other authors like to hang out in cyberspace.
Document Outline
Mars Mission 1 Title Page
Copyright Special Copyright Notice
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
What Does Science Tell Us about God?
About the Author