Remnants of Eden: Evolution, Deep-Time, & the Antediluvian World

By D. S. Causey

Could it be that this reality is not some cosmic accident but actually the direct creation of an intelligence? Is it possible that evolution and deep-time are misleading ideologies built upon interpretation rather than actual fact, and that we ourselves exist as biological testaments to a young advent by that intelligence? Is the Christian Bible simply an ancient and fallible text, or is it verifiably much, much more? What were the earliest days like - in the beginning - before we lost our way, and what proofs do we have for any of it? Whether you are a dedicated Bible believer, someone searching for an alternative to naturalism's godless saga, or simply curious as to what may yet lie hidden in the shadowy realm of the forgotten past, prepare for an exploration of the "Remnants of Eden: Evolution, Deep-time, & the Antediluvian World."

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 12, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543942583

Book preview

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PREFACE

They say life's a journey, that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, that nothing is really what it appears to be. Cliché right? Like it or not, behind each of these mantras looms a specter of reality, a glimmer of undeniable truth. Looking back throughout the relatively brief span of my years, I can say without hesitation that all these notions are profound in the ramifications of what we all have experienced, the implications of what happens to each of us now, and the promise of what is yet to come…

My life, perhaps like those of so many others, has taken a course far different than what I had anticipated. Whatever that path may have once been expected to be, I have since come to find myself utterly dedicated to exposing the often hidden connections between ancient ideologies and new dogmas, and discussing why we absolutely must recognize the significance of each both separately and together as a whole. This quest of mine, brought to life in this volume and beyond, is about revealing ages and locales both familiar and foreign, illuminating high notions and deceitful ambitions, tangibly demonstrating noble promises and primal lies. My work as a whole is one of rebellion and turmoil and fateful catastrophe, the great raging storm and a fresh iteration beyond. It is about dragons, about beast and fowl and man, about our origins, generations, and legacies. It is a work of ascended myth and timeless truths, ancient, present, endless. Most of all, this quest of mine, this work I am so dedicated to - reflected extensively here in this volume - is for all those who have never seen the Light, for those who unknowingly long to be led by it, and for those who need to see it again…

I understand that, for many, my calling is regrettably quixotic; a tragic fool’s errand. Even so, I have my reasons, and they are as imposing to me as a vast mountain, and as nonnegotiable as death in their sway. To understand for yourself why I have pursued this quest it is crucial that you first know me, and that is where our adventure begins in this volume, with my own story. I was a much different person in the past, a man so sure of nature’s ability that I left no room for God, so much so that I was hostile toward the whole notion of His being. My calling now, it seems, is inexorably anchored to my former self, who I was, where I have been, and of how through the sin and confusion of the world in which I wallowed, God reached forth and drew me to Him, opening my eyes and my heart and my mind so that I could at last recognize the truth before me. That truth of course is that this reality in which we live may only be a shadow thinly covering the real nature of our existence. That perspective, painted in vivid shades of clear evidence and careful inference, make up the remainder of this particular volume.

We invariably are assured by the great secular thinkers of our society that nature is, in effect, god-like. Nature, many say, is unfathomably ancient in span, boundless in size, unimaginably creative in her capacity to spawn life and fill ecological voids. From this position is born naturalism, a worldview devoid of any bothersome supernatural intrusions. Does the sum of the evidence actually attest to this notion? Is naturalism, with its pillars of evolution and deep-time, as solid as it is proclaimed? Alternatively, is there some greater reality that we are missing?

Daniel Kahneman, the recipient of the 2002 Nobel Memorial Prize in Economic Sciences and the Professor Emeritus of Psychology at Princeton University wrote that We can be blind to the obvious, and we are also blind to our blindness.¹ Yes, it’s abundantly easy to miss the obvious sometimes, but for many there is a whole other level of blindness at work. How many overlook those evident features not because of their own failings, but because others even blinder than themselves have led them to such false conclusions? How long does the deception persist, how deep does the rabbit hole go?

After generations of blind thought and a stubborn reliance upon naturalism as the best and most scientific perspective of our reality, is it possible that many among the intelligentsia have simply been shielded to the obvious by their teachers and peers, people who themselves were blinded by their teachers and peers and so-on, until now theirs is a calling to perpetrate the same notions in the broadest mediums possible, essentially obscuring the vision of those who look up to them for answers? Is there any hope at all to break the cycle? I am living proof of the possibly.

Looking critically at the disparate fields of science, history, and philosophy, even taking into consideration various personal experiences, one is hard-pressed to simply and easily accept those secular notions any longer. Something, it seems, is being lost in transmission between the critical evidences and the interpretations we are fed concerning them.

Have we all been blinded to a degree? Do we all, each and every one of us, stand on ground that has - at least to some extent - been built upon misconceptions? As Edmund Spencer warned us, There is a principle which is a bar against all information, which is proof against all argument, and which cannot fail to keep man in everlasting ignorance. That principle is condemnation before investigation. We must be diligent. We absolutely cannot allow ourselves to rule out any given scenario simply because it doesn’t seem to fit our expectations, or we may very well miss the truth we seek. Truth, you see, must account for all of the evidence, physical and Scriptural, not just that which is convenient, for fact remains sound no matter what one’s interpretation of it may be.

Could it all just be coincidence, these evidences that contest the status quo? If so, at what point does coincidence transcend the boundary of doubt, when all rational consideration turns on itself, leaving the incredible as the only viable answer? Sometimes, in spite of the naturalists’ most ardent protestations, the most logical answer is, in fact, the least rational. It is only then, when the evidence is thoughtfully considered in whole, that the reality of the situation become apparent; partial considerations only lead one away from the truth. How many though, ignore portions of reality - overlooking various aspects of our world - in order to accommodate their preconceptions? Such limited conclusions are, as a result, inadequate to address the true nature of things. After all, a valid conclusion should be the very moment in time and reasoning where multiple lines of inquiry intersect at a common point, where doubts can be dismissed in the light of cumulative knowledge. It is to see the big picture with clarity, and know it is the truth. There can only be one truth, and it renders all other options obsolete. How can such a point be achieved without honestly and carefully considering every aspect of a given question?

In preparing for this book, I relied on my experience in research, seeking unconventional sources as often as those of the mainstream, peeking beneath each rock and bush to see what scurried around in the dark. My fascination with science came to the forefront time and again, and everywhere I looked offered up another sign of hyperdimensional intent. I didn’t take long at all to realize that what stood to be said would be nothing short of daunting in terms of scope and implication.

In many ways, this has been a process of refinement. I changed, as a writer and artist, into a more capable individual than I once was. I changed, as a researcher, by understanding that the limitations we impose on the world may only in fact be limitations to our own ability to recognize reality as it truly is. I changed, as a believer, in learning to see beyond my natural doubt. I am yet changing, even now, into something more as I yield to a particular beckoning…

It hasn’t always been easy. There were several instances where I came face to face with problems concerning my expectations, conflicts between my understanding of science and history and the narrative of Scripture. In these moments I found it best not to fall prey to the ravages of doubt, effectively casting my faith out the window in order to accept the popular, easy answer. I moved on. I tackled the next issue, and the one beyond that, until at last something would break through and an epiphany would light up the darkness. Each time as I revisited that old conflict I found a promising answer now ready. Time and again, the answers came; it often made me think of Psalm 46:10: "Be still, and know that I am God…"

In the end, allow me to make it abundantly clear that this work is not just another attack on secular naturalism. This work is a personal quest to share that which brought me to the faith, to demonstrate that this world is much different than any secular source is comfortable with, or even capable of, admitting. It is for opening the eyes of those who may yet be blind, those lingering in bondage to the sway of sin, just as it is for those failing believers who, in facing mountains of purported evidence in favor of naturalism, may need a touch of hope. A whole new reality lies in wait for those who can trust long enough to glimpse the truth. I was completely unprepared for it when it was revealed to me, and it took great effort to adjust to the new reality around me afterwards. Looking back, it couldn't have been any different, nor would I have preferred that such an awakening be any less impactful.

Are you prepared to question what you have been led to believe, as I once did? Is the world truly as you know it, as you trust it to be, or is it all a grand illusion concealing something deeper? If you do not fear the repercussions, press on, and see what truths remain hidden in the remnants of Eden…

CHAPTER 1: WHISPERS IN THE HEART

I was born and raised in a typical working-class household in central Louisiana, and as with all children, I had my own interests and pursuits. Most of course were fleeting, momentary, yet even from those earliest times I gravitated to science - biology in particular - and that budding interest would come to play a major role in the direction and motivations of my life.

More than anything else, I had a fascination with prehistory. I can still recall the thrill of visits to nearby stores hoping to find a new dinosaur toy or a book on those ancient beasts for my growing collection. Beyond simple play, I spent many hours poring over their forms, appreciating the details, absorbing much about their physiology: the powerful contours of their musculature, the ripples and wrinkles of scaly reptilian flesh draped over heavy bone. Admittedly, toys and children’s books were not the best resource for learning the intricacies of dinosaurian physiology, yet it inspired my young mind greatly.

I’ve long been told by my mother that my interest in the beasts of old could be traced to her mother, my grandma Marjorie, who - in an effort to calm my youthful hyperactivity - set me down in front of several old encyclopedias, turning to a section on prehistoric life. While the original event has long since passed from my memories, I do indeed recall poring over those dusty tomes throughout my childhood, filled with wonder at the ancient landscapes full of various dinosaurs and other prehistoric megafauna. Looking back, it is fair to say that the whole of my life may have been influenced by that first taste of prehistory amongst the musty pages of those books.

As I grew older, my interests in the past developed profoundly, and I sought every material I could find to learn of the ancient world and its archosaurian¹ dynasties. By the age of seven, I could pronounce and spell the Latinized names of many of the great beasts. I also had quite an understanding of the familial relationships amongst the various orders, at least to the degree widely promoted in the materials available to me then, and could differentiate any number of forms based on a handful of anatomical features. The dinosaurs and their kin were my purest passion.

The End of Innocence

In those days, my family and I we were no strangers to the occasional church visit. Unfortunately, our desire to be at Sunday services typically were defeated by the barriers we put in our own way or otherwise allowed. Because of this, I would often accompany my paternal grandmother instead, my Mawmaw Geraldine.

Figure 1:01 - The Church of My Childhood

I recall many Sunday trips to that little country sanctuary riding along with her. Nothing I could write here would adequately describe the love I had for her, and my grandfather, Barry. Their home was, to a great degree, my own, and there was no more comfortable haven to my mind. Rarely did a day pass in which I was not there from daybreak until dusk, playing with my toys, drawing, or more often than not, reading encyclopedias and other books.

Late one evening in 1997, the still of the night was shattered by a panicked call. My grandmother, they informed us, was being rushed to the hospital, unresponsive. Over the course of the next few days, a new reality for which I was woefully unprepared began to rise around me. In the end, as the life support system was turned off, my grandmother passed on. She was only sixty years old.

For anyone who has lost someone suddenly and unexpectedly, there is a nagging burden left in the wake of their passing. I felt rushes of anger and sadness and confusion, to be sure, but even more so, I was left with regrets. Regrets over things that could not be changed. Regrets over my inability to say just how much I loved her. Regrets over knowing I’d never hug her again, knowing I could never say goodbye. Even now as I write this, dealing with those thoughts as though they were yet again fresh, brings memories welling up in my eyes. Still, beyond those regrets, many wonderful memories remain, and they will forever be cherished within my heart.

Even after death my grandmother inspired me still, and in the months that followed her passing, I began to seek the God I knew she was with. I wasn't alone. My grandfather (who had, in my experience, never been particularly committed to church) and my sister accompanied me, and together we three began attending regularly for a time. As for my sister and me, there were many who tried to dissuade us; friends and even some family. My sister's journey aside, opposition to my decision was rampant, encouragement scarce. Even so, the ultimate choice was mine, and on a Sunday evening’s service, several weeks after my regular attendances began, I slowly moved toward the altar…

Raised as a Pentecostal, I had grown accustomed to the regular speaking in tongues and the ecstatic gesticulations of those who had received the Holy Ghost, yet being in the midst of it that night, hands upon me, tongues afire around me, it all became overwhelming. I knew what I had been told I’d experience, but in truth, I felt no such phenomenon then. Not then. In the end, I was more unnerved than enlightened. The general consensus of the congregation that night was that I too had received the Holy Ghost, and I, under pressure from their excited and expectant questions, agreed. I was too shaken, and too willing to please, to disappoint them by saying anything other. I even tried to convince myself, yet it was to no avail. Still, I kept the faith as best I could for a time, even wondering quietly if I had in fact been touched by God that evening and just missed it amidst the flurry of voices and hands around me. It was a question that burned within me for many weeks…

Whether it was due to the events of that fateful night, or the opposition that I faced from others over my choices, or perhaps other circumstances altogether, my course towards God was less than permanent. Aside from the constant strain of increasing dysfunctions at home, I was hip-deep in the midst of my teenage years, filled with all the emotional, hormonal, and social turmoil of any typical fourteen-year-old. Perhaps more detrimental to my faith than any other factor were the nagging questions regarding my belief and the expectations I had had when beginning my pursuit of God. Those weaknesses began to quickly develop into fatal fractures under the influence of a constant exposure to mainstream science, both that mandated by my school curriculum and that which I myself sought after.

I was, of course, aware of the evolution paradigm prior to this period of my life, yet it was at this point that the devastating implications of that naturalistic worldview became clear. That fateful realization crippled, and quickly dispatched, whatever shreds of faith remained within my heart.

Truly, as a rationalist, who was I to argue with the experts and their evidence? How could I justify questioning the official narrative when it made such sense? I may have sought faith following my grandmother's passing, yet looking back now I question whether I ever truly sought Jesus. Could I simply have been seeking my grandmother? With some degree of apprehension and regret I must say that my actions were likely closer to the latter, and quite honestly, that variation of faith, investing in eternity only as a means to reach someone who has been lost, simply cannot stand any degree of strain before it buckles.

My faith lost out in the end to a new variety of belief; one not built on life and resurrection but on death and chaos. So driven was I to flee the light that I – for a time – even sought to embrace darkness. Along the way, something in my mind reverted to earlier memories, old interests being birthed anew and expanding…

To Fill a Void…

During my descent into secularism, my interests into the past and its inhabitants found new footing. Months prior to this, as I sat quietly in the kitchen of the church, my grandmother’s body in the sanctuary for viewing, I read a book that, despite my morbid surroundings, carried my mind far away, to a distant world of jungles and modern ruins, explorers and even dinosaurs. Something stirred in me that night that would not settle any time soon. Though I was completely unaware of it then, I was on a complicated and extremely unconventional path that would bring me full-circle in due time.

In the early ‘90s, my curiosity towards dinosaurs was joined by a growing interest in genetics, or more specifically, genetic engineering, being exposed to it largely through popular culture. As immature as my understanding of it was, the thought that living things could be understood at their most fundamental levels, so much so that they could be modified, was absolutely groundbreaking for me, and the notion that such was actually possible in reality was tantamount to magic in my young mind. I embraced it as only a child could. Whereas my friends dreamed of one day being police officers and astronauts, I wanted to make monsters.

Then, in 1993, I encountered a novel concept which would irrevocably merge my interests in dinosaurs and genetic engineering. I recall eating at the kitchen table one evening alongside my brother and sister, when my mother excitedly called my name from the other room. I rushed in right away, and facing the television, I could see immediately why she was so worked up. There, on the broad screen of that old cabinet television set flashed images of dinosaurs, as real as anyone could want, during a short segment on the nightly news about an upcoming film titled Jurassic Park.

The Jurassic Park film was based on a 1989 novel of the same name, in which a wealthy dinosaur enthusiast successfully cloned dinosaurs from blood preserved in the full bellies of amber-entombed mosquitoes, and as a means of making the endeavor profitable, placed them in a vast resort complex on a distant island. The tale is fascinating to me even now, possessing as much symbolic relevance as straightforward narrative, drawing forth images of man's inherent hubris, of our endless drive to weakly imitate God's power through our own meager resources. It is, at its heart, an ozymandian tale of power and ultimate failure.

My young enthusiasm was apparently not unique. Jurassic Park quickly became one of the highest grossing franchises in history. Beyond the public interest in the film and its merchandise, those among the intellectual aristocracy began taking notice as well, questioning whether or not the film's premise could hold real world applications. In fact, Michael Crichton, the author of Jurassic Park, had based his novel on actual research, specifically that of Drs. George Poinar and Roberta Hess, who, in 1982 at the University of California at Berkeley, made news with an examination of a 40 million year old fungus gnat that was preserved within fossilized amber. The immaculate state of tissue preservation prompted many, including Poinar and Hess, to question if the genetic material could be equally well preserved, not only in their specimen, but others like it also.

Both before Crichton's novel and after, the scientific community at large was ignited by the promise of new technologies. Serious attention was being directed at what many would initially consider science fiction. Was it possible to clone extinct creatures, like the dodo or quagga? Perhaps a mammoth? Maybe even a dinosaur? The technical hurdles were astronomical but enthusiasm was abundant. In time, the reality of the situation again became undeniable, and most abandoned their pursuit of cloning dinosaurs.

A new development in 1997 reignited the interest for some. On February 22nd of that year, the Roslin Institute revealed their success in the field of cloning with the announcement of Dolly the sheep, the first creature to be cloned from adult, differentiated cells as opposed to the typical embryonic cells. This was a significant advance in the science of cloning. It was undeniably groundbreaking, demonstrating the power of our latest technology. Dolly's creation also reaffirmed our limitations in some ways. As it turned out, the Roslin Institute made over 430 cloning attempts before successfully producing Dolly, and she herself, once created, suffered a number of diseases uncommon in such a young animal, including arthritis by age four and Sheep Pulmonary Adenomatosis, spawning fatal lung tumors, by age six. Dolly, the world's most controversial sheep, was euthanized on February 14th, 2003.

My interest in the past and the beasts that populated it only continued to grow throughout my adolescence. That night at the wake, reading quietly in the church kitchen, the book in my hands that fascinated me so was Michael Crichton’s The Lost World, the sequel to Jurassic Park. Having never read Jurassic Park itself, this was, in fact, my first experience with Crichton’s writing, and I was utterly immersed. The book, which I had gotten the day before, consoled me through distraction, and in doing so established a precedent within my mind, the extent of which I could not yet know.

Later, in the months after the funeral, in searching for my own lost world of sorts, I looked not only to the science of fossils and deep-time, but also fields rooted in the living world around me. College was, after all, only a few years away. Perhaps, I reasoned, the past would become ever clearer to me if I set my attention on the relatives of the Dinosauria, and such study could possibly lay the groundwork for a career as a herpetologist ² or ornithologist. ³ Through that course of thinking was born a small menagerie, a hodgepodge of personal research animals that dominated a great deal of my time for several years.

The plan initially was to acquire only a few animals, perhaps one or two birds and a few lizards, in order to better understand their physiology and behaviors. My grandpa Barry, as always, was more than willing to oblige me. From my earliest memories on, he was always dedicated to giving me whatever my heart desired. His devotion to me actually saddens me now quite a bit, as I have come to realize that I never actually took the time to consider the price he often had to pay for my happiness. Even so, no matter how frivolous the pursuit, he was there, checkbook in hand, especially after my grandmother's passing.

As I continued to grow my menagerie, I became as interested in the act of collecting as I was the research itself. By the end, just two years after my endeavors had begun, I had over two-dozen birds, with a blue-front amazon, a Vosmaeri eclectus, a rainbow lorikeet, a sun conure and quaker parrot, and many cockatiels, canaries, and finches. I even had an emu! Beyond those, I had more than a dozen varieties of iguana, gecko, crocodilians, and amphibians within my collection. From them I learned much, but my prospects of entering the scientific fields dedicated to them quickly lost out to another, less conventional pursuit.

Mid-Spring 1998, while sitting in class, my mind wandering amidst the humid jungles of the past, a strange thought occurred to me. This thought, an absolute fool's errand, would rapidly overtake all of my sensible protestations and come to dominate my life in as significant a way possible for the next thirteen years. Instead of dismissing the notion as I should have, my ingrained interests fueled it, driving me deep into a world of bleeding-edge technology and unbridled ambition. Inspiration had touched me in that moment, electrifying my heart, invigorating my mind, and clarifying my focus. As the day carried on, I became ever more lost in thought as the world around me fell away and a single, crisp line of thought grew to dominate my consciousness. My imagination presented me with questions: Though others had failed, could you succeed at the impossible goal of resurrecting the past? Are you willing to try? Could you make Jurassic Park real?

At first it was idle speculation, meaningless entertainment I suppose. It became a hobby of mine to plan and plot, passing time considering not only the technological side of the matter, but also general logistics. In those early days I kept notes constantly, jotting down thoughts as they arose, refining broad ideas into streamlined targets. I read and reread Crichton's novels dozens of times. I read them so often, in fact, that I only half jokingly referred to my copy of Michael Crichton’s Jurassic World, a hardcover anthology of the two books, then as my bible. In my readings I began to notice several things about Crichton's work, specifically that, though he may have been wrong about how to clone dinosaurs, many of the other aspects of the books made a great deal of sense, both business- and technology-wise, and if applied carefully, could be viable as a real-world application. The books thus became a template of sorts, helping to guide my thoughts on the project. The technology for how to actually accomplish the impossible still resided in the shadows at that point, hidden but whispering to me constantly.

By 1999, my odd hobby was replaced with obsession, and I spent most of each day pondering the prospect of creating my own company to pursue the quixotic goals I had set for myself. All of my youthful ambition was well and good, but as it stood, I had no way to achieve the impossible, the backbone of the company which I dreamed of. Cloning, as had long been considered by advocates of such things, was simply out of the question for numerous reasons. There had to be another way…

As time passed, my faith in evolution and the sprawling aeons of the deep past ⁴ grew immensely. Naturalism ⁵ was the law of my land, and nowhere within that kingdom was room for doubt in the abilities or authority of secular research. Science was my god, plain and simple. Over the next four years, I pondered other techniques to achieve the impossible. Though many concepts arose, I came to realize that all were fatally flawed in their foundational design. By 2004, something clicked. I had an epiphany one evening, a stray yet relevant thought about an obscure South American bird…

The hoatzin, Opisthocomus hoazin, notable among birds, possesses an unusual series of adaptations, including among others, clawed hands in juvenile specimens. Functionally, the clawed digits of the young are used to climb waterlogged tree trunks and vegetation, and the overall physical appearance is quite striking. That unique feature however is limited to juvenile individuals, eventually merging into the fused carpometacarpus, or hand, of typical birds. The appearance of that specific bird in my thoughts heralded a new agenda for my research and a new direction for my hopeful company. With it, I began to construct a supplement for the plans I had been working on. Instead of trying to emulate Jurassic Park's cloned dinosaurs, I now instead saw the benefits of producing my own original breeds through the wonders of modern biotechnology, the new alchemy, whereby life forms could be changed, in part or in whole, as the whims of man and the power of his knowledge allow…

Transitional Forms

During my journey from adolescence to adulthood, several notable things changed within my life. Though friends came and went, one stayed by my side. We were from completely different worlds, yet she, an active and outspoken Christian, and I, a quiet, sheltered atheist, somehow found common ground. In spite of our conflicting worldviews, something more than friendship blossomed.

Figure 1:02 - The Hoatzin (Opisthocomus hoazin), Adult & Juvenile

As could be expected, our relationship quickly became strained, not due to any internal disagreement between us, but rather from outsiders who were concerned about the impact my disposition could have on her. I was tainted, it seemed. Knowing this, I tried my best to find faith again, not for my sake, but hers. Though my mind resented the notion of acquiescing to those who pushed, my heart overpowered it. She deserved any attempt possible, and soon after we started seeing each other, I began attending her church, a Southern Baptist congregation.

Despite my sincerest attempts, faith remained absent. I maintained my attendance there for over a year, from late 2001 to mid-2003, attending services as often as they were held and even participating in a number of activities outside the regular gatherings. Whatever stirrings of emotion there may have been during that time were fleeting, transient, swept away by my adherence to naturalism and an undercurrent of fear, born from my own faulty misunderstandings, that caused me to resent what I believed to be imaginary.

In June of 2003, I married her, my best friend, Sharee. Most were adamant it would not last, that we were destined to fail. I'm told that some even placed bets on the duration of our marriage. Some time prior to our marriage a fork came in the road for me. Sharee made it plainly known that she would tolerate no conflict in my priorities. It was clear before we ever married, before much serious work had ever taken place that, in regard to my heart, a choice had to be made between her and my other passion. There was no alternative. I felt only the briefest stirrings of hesitancy in my mind as I confirmed that she would be my wife, even at the cost of my work. Thus, for a time, my focus was her, our marriage, and the life we were building together.

Even so, one unfortunate casualty of the union was our church attendance. Within weeks I stopped going, and my wife, tired of listening to me complain, sadly followed my lead. It was utterly selfish for me to have stopped, especially knowing her desire to continue, but I could not see it as such then. It wasn't long before my strict adherence to naturalism returned with a vengeance. I was sure that there was no god; certainly not the genocidal and egotistical god of the Christians. It was my duty, I assured myself, to expose the flawed thinking and misplaced faith of its adherents where I could.

It is not easy to write this, to admit my former proclivities for all to know. Though outwardly humble, even somewhat withdrawn, at heart I was a monster, blind to all but my own inclinations; like a predator seeking prey. I cannot justify my former motivations in any acceptable moral capacity, but I can freely admit that my drive was personal and powerful, and for me made worthwhile by the feelings of superiority I felt towards those I condemned, criticized, and converted. In my eyes, their stronghold of faith was mine for the taking, and I did so repeatedly with cold, determined intent.

How many did I lead astray? How many prayers were never said because of my actions? To how many did I do irreparable harm? I would love to believe that, in spite of my efforts, I failed to sufficiently drive any away from the faith, yet I know this not to be the case. How many are out there to whom I have done the ultimate disservice? My heart breaks pondering the potential…

We as believers are assured that God has a plan and that everything that has happened, is happening, and will happen plays a role in that ultimate strategy. ⁶ Looking back on what I did for so long, the faith I damaged, the lives I changed for the worse, I must trust that His promise is true. I believe God allowed me to go down that road as a precursor to another life which lay on the horizon, just outside of my vision, and far removed from my previous ambitions.

Deceived as I was then, emboldened by false proofs, I continued my regular persecution of the faithful for several years. Though not naturally gregarious and quite socially awkward, I found strength in the worldview I espoused, courage within the doctrines of men. Whether in the Student Union at college or during smoke breaks at work, I tended to find a way to raise my flag of scientific superiority against believers and wage a gentle war of logical persuasion against their faith. I could typically tell when I had succeeded, the weight of the evidence becoming obvious, shoulders drooping ever so slightly, the corner of their lips turning down just enough to be noticeable, hope dimming in their eyes as they shifted their gaze…

There were those however who withstood my assaults. No matter the rationale I used, no matter upon what evidence I stood, they remained resolute in their devotion to Christ. Despite my resentment for their beliefs, deep down I held a degree of admiration for them and how, despite the seemingly obvious, they remained steadfast. My wife was one such person. Frequently I would raise the subject, yet, no matter how logical it seemed to me, she remained one of the strong, standing firmly in her faith. It was refreshing, if mildly infuriating, to have that dichotomy between us, to have ground upon which we could each individually stand, yet to still be able to love each other as man and wife should.

Despite our inherent differences, she was my rock, always willing to dutifully support me. No matter how insane my whims, nor how monstrous I had become, she stood alongside me still. Such was the case with my planned company and my ultimate goals concerning it. Though earlier I had agreed to her demand to abandon the company, I found myself descending into an angry and hopeless depression in the months after our marriage, feeling quite lost without the direction it had so long provided. Because of this, because of the state I was in and no doubt the state to which I would yet fall, Sharee bowed to my pleas, tearfully allowing me to resume my quixotic dreams. She absolutely abhorred the idea, not only morally, but also as a common-sense individual who saw little merit in pursuing such fanciful dreams.

Even so, against everything she held dear, she stood with me and supported me in love, offering advice from her perspective. In fact, the very briefcase that accompanied me to company meetings was a gift from her for just that purpose. Together we agreed that until the company was established and the technology in place, we would keep my endeavors quiet from the public. If for no other reason, we counted on this silence to give us time to focus on the future without having to address the certain-to-be-asked questions as to how, and more importantly, why.

After my epiphany concerning hoatzins, those strange birds of South America, I came to believe that, despite the broad entertainment value of dinosaurs, most average people were ignorant of the finer points of their biology, only recognizing the general form of notable species when they saw them. Any large theropod ⁷ dinosaur, for instance, was almost immediately identified as Tyrannosaurus rex, even if that was not the case. I realized that I could use that mass ignorance to my advantage, as most people would be just as happy, and just as willing to pay, to see a tyrannosaur analogue as they would a true tyrannosaur, especially if they didn't know the difference. This was the key to my quest, I realized, elegantly merging two separate notions into the answer I so long sought.

What were those two notions?

First, there was the popular position concerning the perceived relationship between birds and dinosaurs, which at the time was beginning to get much attention, not only in the scholarly fields, but also the mainstream. Publishers such as National Geographic and entertainment outlets like the Discovery Channel regularly promoted pieces about the connection between the two, claiming that birds are actually the modern-day descendants of theropod dinosaurs, having evolved from their reptilian forebears.

Secondly, there was the notion that as organisms evolved they went through a series of genetic alterations that accumulate into physical changes. Though these changes may be dramatic, the original genes which controlled the early physical aspects of the organism may not have been completely lost, but rather only made inactive, replaced instead by the newer, active genes. The implication was that modern organisms may in fact retain a great deal of the genes of their ancestors, hidden and inactive, yet still viable, within their modern genomes.

Somehow, that night, I made the connection in my mind that, by starting with modern birds, we could engineer pseudo-dinosaurs, and if we were clever, these new animals could potentially be made close enough to what the public expects to make them viable for commercialization. Though I had a long way to go in regard to the necessary steps between modern birds and marketable dinosaur-analogues, I had, as far as I was concerned, plotted the course to see my dream come true.

By early 2008, I had streamlined a potential means through which to achieve what I sought, and along with it formulated much of the core logistical work involving the necessary employees, facilities, and investment models for my work. Soon after, I completed the first workable draft of a business plan for International Biological Services, Inc. (IBS), the company I had dreamed of for nearly ten years.

I should have known better. I should have been more patient, especially having worked towards this point for so long already, but at that time, all the plans essentially in place, I found myself desperate. Actually, that's too lenient a word. I ached for success like a starved addict. I ravenously craved vindication for my quest so much that I was willing to pay whatever cost necessary to prove my theories, my designs, my worth, even if I had to descend into gritty criminality to do so. Had it not been for the will of God, His plan for me being perhaps something more than a money launderer, a captive felon, or a cold corpse in a shallow grave, I would have successfully stepped into those moral depths just to taste a few musky crumbs of success. I was so close…so close. Success or failure, triumph or tragedy, it was a disastrous situation that was only narrowly averted.

Around this same time, in June of 2008, I got more fantastic news, and ultimately this news would have a much greater impact on my life than anything I could have imagined at the time: Sharee was pregnant. By this point in our lives we had already experienced several miscarriages, so our excitement was tinged with a degree of concern. A warm hope surrounded me though, and I believed that this time would be different. This time all would be OK. In light of everything, I withdrew from my work for a time, focusing instead on something far more precious: my family.

On February 9th, 2009, shortly after 2am, I sat in a darkened delivery room rocking my firstborn daughter. In the quiet of that room, Sharee already asleep, my mind was racing with pride and fear, and immense, immeasurable love. I had never loved anything so much, nor believed it was even possible to do so. I think that such a sensation cannot adequately be described, and must instead be experienced to be understood. As I rocked, staring down at that beautiful girl who was tightly gripping my finger, I was visited by a little thought; barely there, a glimmer, a dull flash in the darkest recess of my mind. This diminutive stranger peered around the corner of the deepest edge of my consciousness and whispered to me, Maybe there is something more?

I was so caught up in the moment that I recall actually saying those words aloud, yet still under my breath as if scared to physically utter them, in the dark as I rocked my baby. The moment passed quickly as my full attention shifted back to that quiet bundle in my arms. One may say it was merely emotion that brought about such considerations, or give some other seemingly reasonable explanation to the goings-on of my mind, yet whatever it was, for the first time in years I questioned my tightly-held naturalistic beliefs. Could that glimmer in the dark, that gentle stranger who wished to be heard, could that simple, yet immensely profound question have been God starting to peck through the wall I had built around my heart? I have no doubt about it.

The looming implication of the question that visited me that night echoed throughout my mind for a time. Over the following months I came to accept, after much consideration, that there was, in fact, a god who, at least at some point, had been at work in our world. I even came to accept a very weak version of Christianity, which at best recognized Jesus as a prominent guide more than anything else. The Bible, I still believed, was little more than an allegorical user's manual for living in a socially-acceptable fashion; a guide for how to behave. Nothing more.Nothing less.

Despite my acceptance of the notion of Christianity, little truly changed about me. Though my approach was a bit softer, I was essentially just as predatory towards believers as I was before, feeling a compulsion to explain the miracles of the Bible and the divinity of Jesus naturalistically, describing them simply as rare phenomena. At that time I still clung to deep-time and evolution, or at least a theistic variation of it,⁸ and I pushed these views relentlessly on many of the believers around me, still feeling it necessary to do so, to ground their faith to something, as I saw it, real. If I didn't, I reasoned, who would?

A Dream Within Reach

After the birth of my daughter, dreams of owning a biotech company and commercializing that technology surged back to the forefront of my mind. It was finally time to start reaching out again, yet the question was how? That start I was looking for came quite unexpectedly one evening as my wife and I were dining out, the subject of the company coming up while we waited. I began talking about the future, my plans for us and our daughter, and various factors about the company itself, while Sharee patiently listened. As I rattled on, she reached out, grabbing a business card tacked to the notice board we were standing near. She turned to me, and interrupting my babbling, offered the card, suggesting that I would need help in order to get things moving.

Tentatively, I looked at the card, and, seeing that it belonged to a local financial planner, I immediately considered the implications. Could this individual help? Would he be the first of those to assist me in making my dreams real? Over the next few days I would take the card out and study it, feeling the texture of the material between my fingers, absentmindedly studying its colors and design, mulling the notion of contact over in my head. I knew that if I reached out to the owner of this card I would have to be smart in my approach. IBS was anything but traditional, its goals provocatively unorthodox. I would be asking him to join me in the impossible. Could I do it?

Finally, on March 11th, 2009, I decided that I would email him, trying my best to be eloquent, mustering as much professionalism as possible. In spite my best efforts, I rambled nervously during those first few correspondences as I described the nature of my research and my need for professionals like him. I also informed him that, as it stood, I had no means by which to pay him, offering instead the only thing I could: a stake in the company itself. Four days later he responded informing me that he would be willing to act as a consultant in my venture, and we agreed to meet at his home on May 5th.

I recall driving there that day, my anxiety tormenting me relentlessly. The weather was gorgeous, sun shining brightly, casting dappled patches of light across the hood of my car as I drove along the tree-lined road to his house. My mind raced with the potential