Out West, near the badlands, is a national park called the Garden of the Gods. Whoever named it had at least a facsimile of an idea that it was created by the one God we call the Creator. As Teddy Roosevelt would say, “Bully for him.”
We have, in this instance, glorious rock formations, indications of the wonders the Creator has strewn in our path. But you don’t have to travel west to see these wonders. I just got back from coffee with my World War II friend, Armand, who in his constant conversation would have me join a German genealogy club to find out about my ancestors. I’ve emphasized I’m Swiss, and I can trace my ancestry back to 1400 in my Swiss town hall, and even further to the Helvetians and Romans. Buy that’s Armand, a testimony to the greatness in Italian immigration.
So you see, Armand is part of the Garden of God, and his ancestors were among the first in our great Western Civilization. I only wish he were more aware and proud of it.