This I Know

A friend of mine, a Christian friend, has recently begun “talking to” a young man who considers himself a Deist (not okay FYI). Not knowing very much about this belief I Googled it. I was discussing this belief system with my roommate and her views on the subject. I was reading off a lists of “What Deists Believe” and “Are you a Deist?” to her and we were just baffled. How could someone believe that there is a supreme “being” that created us and the universe but then backed off to let nature run its course and not interfere?
My roommate is a music education major and a composer for our homecoming tradition. She is a very creative person. I knit. We established the fact that, in different ways, we create things. As creators of things we know how much time and energy it takes and how much of your heart goes into the things that you create. I have a very hard time knitting something for someone who isn’t going to take care of it. She has a hard time pouring her heart into her music and presenting it to people who aren’t going to at least try to appreciate it.
These things that we make, we love. If I can’t step away from a scarf and not care about how it’s treated; how could God make me and then just step away? A scarf does not have a personality. It does not have thoughts, and ideas, and emotions, and dreams.
I do.
Psalm 139:13 tells us that God created us, but more than that, he knew us, before even our mothers did.
I grew up in church, singing "Jesus Loves Me" and learning the signs for Jesus and Love. I watched as my parents would take communion and I cried the first time I was allowed to take that little piece of cracker and that tiny cup of grape juice. There has not been a time in my life that I haven’t known of God’s great and powerful love. I have had great joy in my life and known that God was there. I have had great sorrow, and as angry and hurt as I was; still, I knew God was there. How bleak it must be for someone to not know and experience the love of God. How sad and lonely they must be, when all they have to depend on are themselves.
When their only hope is in their own weakness, their imperfection; where does joy come from?