It’s a strange thing, being told to trust in the invisible.

Every breath I take, I assume air will fill my lungs, propelling my life along. Every time I jump, I assume gravity will pull me back to Earth.

I never see evidence of these things happening.

I don’t watch as glowing blue waves radiate from the base and walls of my microwave toward my little ceramic mug to warm its contents.

When driving, I trust I won’t continue to accelerate toward the car in front of me when I push down on that one lever near my feet.

But, truly, there is no reason to assume this.

The relationship between some little black wedge and the stopping of a vehicle is completely arbitrary. As is the connection between a metal box and the conducting of heat.

Yet, I trust. However, once this trust — this faith — is demanded in a greater capacity, I falter.

Try to tell me the world magically exploded into existence; I won’t believe you. Tell me some huge man perched in the clouds knit the world together; that doesn’t seem too probable either.

How am I supposed to comprehend these ideas? How am I supposed to trust in them?

Both would imply the wildly unimaginable took place, willing us to life.

Either the statistically improbable occurred, not just once, but countless times. Over and over again we fortuitously became closer to existence through absurdly circumstantial molecular collisions.

Or — not to say these are the only two explanations the world offers — there is a guiding force behind these miraculous constructions which continues to twirl its hand in the functions of day-to-day life. Much like the abstractly explained concept of, say, quantum entanglement, we are watching as an incomprehensible force instructs our lives.

So, with that, I suggest it seems equally strange to declare faith in science as it does to declare faith in God.

We were inherently created desiring something greater than ourselves to be deemed responsible for everything.

We want to be free from the responsibility of life and death and all that comes in between.

Some of us trust in the idea of reincarnation, declaring all things which afflict or uplift someone are consequentially related to a past life and, therefore, free from our control.

Some lean into the idea that this life must be sacrificed in order for us to assume our intended role, which is a relinquish to the promise of a righteous death.

Some study the explanations which man works to provide, elaborating on, fantasizing about and investigating this world until his life evaporates. I am heartbroken by the inevitability of overriding discoveries that unfailingly cause the living to abandon the ideology of a dead man for the glimmer of innovation.

Some, like myself, hoist the blame and grief and confusion — along with the good and glorious — this world promises onto the shoulders of an almighty creator.

I don’t want to have to figure out this world so that I may peacefully exist in it. I don’t want to spend my waning years thinking a vast darkness will be its capstone.

So, I must — I absolutely must — believe in God. I must believe that Peter walked on water and Paul was blinded — but only for a little while — and Lazarus was raised from the dead. I must believe a fish fed 5,000 people and a different fish swallowed a man whole and spit him up three days later.

I know it’s crazy. It makes no sense. But neither does anything else.

So, if I have to choose something to believe — if I will inevitably put my faith somewhere — I will place it in the very thing that has acknowledged the gross absence of my understanding and offered me eternity despite it.

And, at the end of the day, I remind myself that regardless of my confusion, my mind still longs for an explanation.

Man created religion to explain our desire to belong to a greater force. Therefore, it makes sense to believe there is a reason we, internally, desire some reason.

In “Mere Christianity,” C.S. Lewis — who was an atheist for most of his life — wrote, “If there was a controlling power outside the universe, it could not show itself to us as one of the facts inside the universe — no more than the architect of a house could actually be a wall or staircase or fireplace in that house.”

“The only way in which we could expect it to show itself would be inside ourselves as an influence or a command trying to get us to behave in a certain way. And that is just what we do find inside ourselves,” Lewis continued.

So, I may not have much more than a drop of understanding, but I have found myself frantic to understand the purpose I seek.

That, for me, is enough to prove that a greater God placed it there. And I believe He would have to exist for that to happen.