A few minutes later, Unc walked up next to me and hung his arms across the fence railing. In his hand he held an empty mason jar with holes punched in the lid. He stood there a long time turning the jar. Inside, a single lightning bug fluttered off the sides of the glass. Every five or six seconds, he'd light his lantern. Unc turned the jar in his hand. "Scientists say that these things evolved this way over millions of years." He shook his head. "That's a bunch of bunk. I don't think an animal can all-of-a-sudden decide it wants to make light grow out its butt. What kind of nonsense is that? Animals don't make light." He pointed to the stars. "God does that. I don't know why or how, but I'm pretty sure it's not chance. It's not some haphazard thing he does in his spare time."
He looked at me, and his expression changed from one of wonder to seriousness, to absolute conviction. "Chase, I don't believe in chance." He held up the jar. "This is not chance, neither are the stars."
I was hurting inside, and the streaks shining on my face didn't scratch the surface at telling how much.
He tapped me gently in the chest. "And neither are you. So, if your mind is telling you that God slipped up and might have made one giant mistake when it comes to you, you remember the firefly's butt."
The laughter walked up behind me, wrapped around my tummy, and tickled my ribs, finally bubbling out of my mouth - taking the hurt parts with it. That's something Unc was good at. He gave me his laughter and took my pain.
...
That night, I lay in bed watching my stars swim around inside the glass and light my room in flashes. Before he turned out my light, Unc squatted next to my bed and tucked me in. It was growing colder, so he wrapped me in a cocoon and pushed the hair off my face. "I'm pretty sure that if your dad had read those ads and could have answered them, he would have. And in my book, no matter what the state says or does, he still can." He tapped the lid of the jar. "If God can make a firefly's butt light up like a star, then anything is possible. Anything."
Chasing Fireflies by Charles Martin (pg. 182-184)
