This is the title I chose for my personal blog, which is meant to give me an outlet for one of my favorite crafts – writing – plus to use an image from my favorite sport, golf.  Out of college, my first job was as a reporter for the Daily Astorian in Astoria, Oregon, and I went on from there to practice writing in all my professional positions, including as press secretary in Washington, D.C. for a Democrat Congressman from Oregon (Les AuCoin), as an Oregon state government manager in Salem and Portland, as press secretary for Oregon’s last Republican governor (Vic Atiyeh), and as a private sector lobbyist.  This blog also allows me to link another favorite pastime – politics and the art of developing public policy – to what I write.  I could have called this blog “Middle Ground,” for that is what I long for in both politics and golf.  The middle ground is often where the best public policy decisions lie.  And it is where you want to be on a golf course.

An editorial writer for the Arizona Republican wrote a thought-provoking piece the other day that made this statement:

“Peering into deep outer space, images from some 13 billion years ago, stirs not only our wonderment, but also takes us on a journey of spirituality.”

The writer, Phil Boas, was talking about the Webb Telescope, which has transmitted incredible images back to earth from far farther than the Hubble Telescope before it.

Boas asked this probing question in the headline – “Did the Webb Telescope show us the face of God?”

He went on:

“How infinitesimally small are we? 

“We are so small our brains lack the processing power to answer the question.

“So small that on Monday morning we attended to the mundane, the things our primitive minds could manage:  Eggs for breakfast, food and water for the dog and then, at the very outer edges of our comprehension, $5.50 for a gallon of gas.

“Then came news of something we can never fully comprehend, an image so astonishing it provokes the biggest questions:

“Who are we?”

“Where are we?”

“Are we alone?”

“Is there a God?”

Beyond those questions, here are just a few of the incredible facts Boas included in his column:

• “…what a patch of sky!  It includes a massive cluster of galaxies about four billion light-years away that astronomers use as a kind of cosmic telescope.  The cluster’s enormous gravitation field acts as a lens, warping and magnifying the light from galaxies behind it that would otherwise be too faint and faraway to see.”
• Through the Webb Telescope, mankind is seeing extremely distant galaxies “that stretch back to the beginning of time.  It’s a galaxy-finding machine.”
• A lonely speck in the cosmic dark:  This is the oldest documented light in the history of the universe from 13 billion years — let me say that again — 13 billion years ago.
• A billion is a number so large it is essentially an abstraction to the human mind.  Light that has traveled 13 billion light-years requires context so we can begin to understand it – see the next bullet.  
• Light moves at a speed of 670.6 million miles per hour.  A beam of light can travel approximately 6 trillion miles in a single earth year, according to Space.com.  At that speed, you could travel around the Earth 7.5 times in a single second.
• The numbers are staggering.  Our own galaxy, the Milky Way, is about 100,000 light-years across and contains some 100-400 billion stars, according to NASA.  Its size is too big to comprehend, but, within the context of the larger universe, it is smaller than a grain of sand.
• One of our neighboring galaxies is Andromeda. It is 220,000 light-years wide.  More than twice the size of our own.
• How many galaxies do you think there are?  NASA estimates 2 trillion. And if you can wrap your brain around that, ask yourself this question:  How many planets are there in all those galaxies?
• Too many planets to comprehend:  Roughly 700 quintillion — that’s 7 followed by 20 zeroes — 700,000,000,000,000,000,000.

My mind is boggled by these statistics, not to mention the photos produced by the telescope.  In the face of these numbers and photos, my eyes glaze over, not just my mind.

Then, to regain my composure, I return to my basic premise, a choice I presume to make:   It is that God created all of what we see and cannot see –-  and I admire his handiwork, at least what I can understand of it.