How can I believe that my dead bones will not be brought back to life, given that every spring, I watch as our little garden is brought back from the dead?

How can I believe that I will not be raised up from my grave, given that every morning, I see to my amazement that I have been raised up out of my bed, revived from death-like sleep, and made ready to greet a new day?

How can I believe that, having created me before, in my mother’s womb, He will not create me again for a new world, a new creation, far greater and more amazing than this one?