I nearly hit a deer tonight, while driving home from work.

It should be noted that my commute is not a rural one. It’s not even outer-ring suburb country, with lots of big, wooded lots. I drive from one inner-ring suburb to another inner-ring suburb, with one or two inner-ring suburbs in between. This deer jumped from behind a wooden fence at the edge of a tiny little park along 42nd Ave. in New Hope. Fortunately, my tiger-like reflexes allowed me to jam on the brakes before I hit it, and the driver behind me’s tiger-like reflexes allowed him to avoid rear-ending me.

I think maybe we need to re-think this whole business about restricting deer hunting to a limited season. I say we’ve got plenty of deer, and people who need cheap protein should be able to shoot ‘em any time they like.

I hasten to add that I don’t think we should be allowed to take our hunting rifles to urban deer, such as the one who touched my life this afternoon. Those stray bullets are made of a toxic substance, you know, and might be bad for the environment.

We might give bowhunters a shot, at them, though.

Speaking of mayhem (and that’s an unusually labored transition, even for me) I have a thought about mysteries and solutions tonight.

I’ve gotten into the habit of watching CBS’s “48 Hours Mystery,” which runs on Saturday nights, often after a re-run of “CSI.” The juxtaposition of the two shows intrigues me, mostly because of the differences between the fictional mysteries and the real ones.

What strikes me about the real mysteries covered on “48 Hours Mystery” is that they generally lack a really satisfactory resolution. In a fictional mystery, you almost always end with a solid solution to the problem. The detective brings out his damning evidence, and the accused can do nothing but hang his head and say, “Yes, I did it and I’m glad. She made my life a living heck” (or something equivalent).

But in real life, to judge from “48 Hours,” that scene almost never happens. The detectives gather evidence that they consider conclusive, and they arrest the suspect, who generally says nothing except to ask to call his lawyer. As the court proceedings go on, every piece of evidence is contested by the defense, and plausible explanations are put forward. The evidence against the accused may be strong, but it’s almost never absolutely, 100% definitive.

So in the end, the jury is left with a judgment call. Has the prosecution proven guilt beyond a reasonable doubt? In real life, it seems there’s always some room for doubt. Often it comes down in part to a subjective impression—“I just didn’t trust him.” “He gave me the creeps.” And you’re always left with a nagging doubt. “Maybe we condemned an innocent man.” Or, “Maybe we let a guilty man loose to kill again.”

You know what? That’s life. It’s very, very rare that you get to make a choice where you have absolute, 100% proof of the right way to go. (If you did, would it really be a choice?)

I think that goes for matters of faith too. Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t think truth is relative, or that the Bible isn’t God’s revealed truth.

But those who look for 100% certainty—an argument that will answer all objections and silence all doubts—will hover forever at the crossroads.

Choices—including the choice to believe—ultimately come down to a conviction in one’s soul; “the testimony of the Holy Spirit.” Perhaps that’s another name for what’s theologically called Election.

And even then, don’t expect all doubts to disappear. They won’t.

We see through a glass, darkly.