The universe does not speak in words.
It speaks in patterns.
After the first questions about God arise in the human heart, something strange begins to happen. People start noticing small details they once ignored—the rhythm of breathing, the order of the stars, the way seasons change without being told. These are not random events. They feel like silent signs, gently pointing toward something greater.
God does not always reveal Himself through thunder or miracles. Most of the time, He appears through simplicity.
A leaf knows when to fall.
The sun knows when to rise.
The heart knows when to hope.
Who taught them?
Scientists explain how things work, but they often stop at how. Faith asks why.
Why does existence exist at all?
Every civilization in history has searched for God in its own way. Some built temples. Some wrote scriptures. Some sat in silence. Different paths, same destination. This itself is a mystery: how can separated minds feel the same pull toward something unseen?
It is because the idea of God is not planted by culture alone—it is woven into consciousness.
Look at a newborn child. It arrives without language, without knowledge, yet with trust. That natural trust reflects a deeper truth: life begins with belief. Even before learning to walk, humans believe they will be held when they fall.
Is that not faith?
Many people expect God to be obvious, like an object in front of their eyes. But God is not an object. God is presence.
Just like wind—you cannot see it, but you feel it.
Just like love—you cannot measure it, but it changes everything.
In moments of deep silence, when the world becomes quiet, people sometimes feel a strange peace. That peace does not come from logic. It comes from connection.
Some call it God.
Some call it energy.
Some call it truth.
Names change. Experience does not.
The mystery deepens when suffering enters life. If God exists, why pain? Why loss? Why struggle?
Perhaps pain is not proof of God's absence, but proof of growth. Fire strengthens gold. Darkness teaches the value of light. Without contrast, meaning disappears.
God may not remove every storm, but He teaches how to stand in rain.
Chapter Two teaches one simple idea: God is not hiding from us. We are often too distracted to notice.
The signs are everywhere—in nature, in kindness, in conscience.
The real journey does not begin by looking at the sky.
It begins by looking within.