The End of Mystery

The cabinet belonged in the office of 1980's blue collar management, and not the bedroom of a 9 yr. old. But it was there, I'm sure, because my parents didn't want it in their room, nor any of the "public" areas of our house. The coolest aspect of this particular cabinet was that there was a horizontally hinged shelf that made a terrifically deep-set desk when opened. The desk was great for a myriad of things, but due to the particular nature of certain gifts during a certain period of time, it quickly became the center of KolebaSon Forensics. Equipped with an ancient 20 lb. microscope, a calculator, an assortment of coloured pens, and a notepad, that cabinet provided the perfect environment for solving all the mysteries my brain could conjure up. And so it began. That cabinet stimulated natural tendencies within myself to understand and make sense of things. To learn how things work and fix them. In essence, that cabinet was the training ground which enabled me to become the skillful mystery-killer I am today.
G.K. Chesterton wrote: Mysticism keeps men sane. As long as you have mystery, you have health; when you destroy mystery, you create morbidity.
My life has been characterized by understanding, making sense of something, and communicating my discovery. A state of mystery is a state of weakness. And holding on to the mysterious, never mind worshipping it, seems repulsive.
Chesterton keeps pushing: The whole secret of mysticism is this: that man can understand everything by the help of what he does not understand.
Is much of the current struggle of faith due to an inability to accept mystery, to be labeled as a mystic, to cherish that which is mysterious? Might our cabinets contain more fairytales...