Suppose God actually had made everything, there still had to be evolution. Imagine God made caterpillars. Colourful creatures, but did he take the time to give them the DNA to create a chrysalis or a cocoon? Inside those enclosures, some kind of seeming miracle occurs. These cozy enclosures tear open, on schedule, from the inside. Suddenly there’s a butterfly or a moth. What’s next?
Perhaps God wants the balance kept, rather than coat the planet with flying insects, so God dreamed up fish that leap from the water to grasp low-flying insects. For higher-flying creatures, God created bats, to feed on the flying creatures too. It seems God confused his plans a bit. God created birds, to fly. God created mice, to scurry. While developing the mice, God gave some of them wings, which were meant for birds only. Then God gave the bats radar brains with which they ‘feel the location’ of their target, sightlessly.
As a bonus for the bats, God created the flying insects with an irresistible attraction toward lights. The insects gather in swarms around lights, and Papa bat can feed the whole family. We don’t know how much God had to do with the evolution of the electric light and the electricity to light it.
Suppose God created the giraffe. Is the long neck to reach high leaves a good design? The hippopotamus lives mostly immersed in water. It eats underwater plants. Did God design the cute little nostrils that the hippo can keep above water? I think everything evolved, naturally, starting with materials from the Big Bang. Given eternity and infinity, any possible melding of solids, liquids, and gasses is possible.
While canoeing on Georgian Bay in Canada’s Great Lakes, I was sliding through the calm water alongside a tall, flat cliff of solid granite. Over hundreds of years, water had seeped into small cracks in the granite face. During winters, the water in the cracks froze and expanded to push the cracks wider. Eventually, dirt blew into the cracks and filled them with earth. As time passed, cedar tree seeds found their way into that dirt, either by wind or through bird droppings. By the time I was drifting by, a cedar tree about twenty years old had grown horizontally out of a crack in the granite and bent up toward the sun.
God did not do any of that. It is plainly obvious that given time and weather, evolution can cause virtually any circumstance. God did not make the Platypus, a mammal with a duck beak and webbed toes. God did not make the bat, a mammal with wings of skin. God did not make the marsupials like kangaroos and possums that carry their fetuses outside of their uterus and in a tummy pocket instead.
The way the earth became so rich in species is an accident of space and time. The reality of eternity and infinity prove that anything is possible, without God, eventually.