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How many times have you looked at something and wondered if it actually had a purpose? Some things seem to exist for no good reason. They just take up space. You look down on the purposeless thing and question its existence. You shake your head at the waste of time, space and matter.

Some speculate about the past and future of the apparently futile object. Maybe it used to have a purpose, but no longer does. Maybe it will eventually cease to exist due to its lack of purpose.

Take the appendix, for example. I grew up understanding that the appendix was a small organ that did absolutely nothing. Nothing, that is, until it became infected. Then it would do something. It would swell up and threaten to burst, spewing toxic waste into our internal system, which could endanger our very life.

My mom's life was threatened when she was a small child. My brother went through it when he was a young teenager. Both were saved by the skills of surgeons who carefully removed the ineffective, infected, inflamed appendage.

My aunt spent several weeks in a hospital during her mid-30s after her appendix burst. It was touch and go for a while, but she pulled through, thanks to excellent medical care.

These events made me question why we have an appendix in the first place. Why not just remove the appendix at birth rather than risk it getting infected and wreaking havoc on the body later in life?

When I took biology in college, I learned that the appendix was a leftover. It probably served a purpose tens of thousands of years ago. But evolution, they said, rendered it useless. We no longer need the appendix, they said. Thousands of years from now, it probably won't exist at all, they speculated.

I accepted my professor's explanation and moved on. Like the telephone operators that no longer exist due to the development of automated telephone systems and the vinyl albums that were replaced by CDs, the appendix, which once had a respectable job of some sort, is simply no longer needed.

Like the gasoline-fueled car or the landline telephone, the appendix will someday be something we learn about in school. It will be described and discussed on the pages of history and science books, but it will not actually exist within the human body.

A neighbor recently had his appendix removed, stirring up the old questions again. I began to wonder how long it would be before babies were born without an appendix. Then I wondered if my own kids even have an appendix.

But just last week, I heard the big news. The appendix actually does serve a purpose. It actually has an important function. Not being a doctor or scientist, I didn't dwell on what it actually does, though I understood it to be something about fighting off infection or generating good cells of some sort.

What it does is not the point. That it does something at all is the big news. Somebody sitting out there in biology class did not accept the professor's explanation. Someone decided that the appendix exists, so it must have a function. Someone decided to spend some time with the appendix, get to know it and really understand it and determine its function once and for all.

Now that we know definitively that the appendix actually has a job, and doesn't simply take up space in the abdomen, occasionally becoming infected to the point of endangering one's health, we must reflect on lessons learned.

My first reaction? Clearly, my biology professor was wrong. And if he was wrong about the appendix, he could have been wrong about other factoids I picked up during the biology course -- the course I put much effort into so I could earn an A. Now that it is common knowledge that the appendix has a purpose and won't evolve itself out of existence, I feel awkward bragging about my college biology grade.

Maybe other seemingly useless things have a purpose. Maybe there is a purpose for the lint that accumulates between one's toes and in one's belly button. Maybe men do need nipples after all.

Thanks to the appendix, I now know better than to arrogantly question something that seems useless. Just because I am not well-enough acquainted with the object to understand its function doesn't mean it is worthless. Maybe those things that appear to be a waste of time, space and matter just need someone to take the time to get to know it.

Micki Bare is a columnist for the Arkansas News Bureau and the Courier-Tribune in Asheboro, N.C., and author of the book, "Relative Expressions." She lives in Asheboro with her husband and three children. Her e-mail address is mickibare@inspiredscribe.com.