Unfortunately, John, not all fundamentalists share your view of what "fundamentalism" means. Nor does the Merriam-Webster on-line dictionary:—

fun•da•men•tal•ism
Function: noun
1 a often capitalized : a movement in 20th century Protestantism emphasizing the literally interpreted Bible as fundamental to Christian life and teaching; b : the beliefs of this movement c : adherence to such beliefs.
2 : a movement or attitude stressing strict and literal adherence to a set of basic principles, e.g. Islamic fundamentalism, political fundamentalism.

Also, fundamentalist acquaintances of mine have told me in no uncertain terms that this is precisely what the word means—and what they believe. And I'm guessing that what they would say about your idea of fundamentalism is that you're trying to keep a foot in both camps: the fundamentalist position as they see it, and a more liberal interpretation of the Bible, which they would not find acceptable.

Now that's not my idea. I'm not making up any definitions of fundamentalism, I just using the term the way the dictionary defines it and fundamentalists themselves use it, so I'm not the person you need to argue with.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch. . . .

Regarding the matter of omniscience and omnipotence, there is a very interesting and thought-provoking concept put forth in the extraordinary novel, The Sparrow, by Mary Doria Russell. Because it deals with space travel and alien contact, many people regard this as science-fiction, but it's significant that not all that many literary reviewers do, and in most bookstores, you find it under "General Literature" rather than "Science Fiction."

It's the story of an expedition to the nearby Alpha Centauri system which includes a number of Jesuit priests (Jesuits were in the forefront of many early explorations, such as Marquette and Jolliet in North America), including Father Emilio Sandoz, a linguistics expert. They make contact with the inhabitants of the planet Rakhat. At first, things go well. But soon, all goes horribly wrong. In the process, Father Sandoz, whose enthusiasm for the expedition included high hopes about meeting "God's other children," loses his faith in God.   [Non-believers, have no fear:   no matter what your religious beliefs—or lack thereof—this is any exceptionally book, and well worth reading.]   

When Father Sandoz, as far as they know, the sole survivor of the expedition, is rescued by a second expedition and brought back to Earth, the Jesuit council that helped sponsor the first expedition tries to find out what happened. What went wrong? But Father Sandoz refuses to talk about it. But then, they do learn—and, although it does not deny the existence of God—it challenges everyone's faith.

In the last pages of the book, a small group of Jesuits are walking in a garden, mulling over what they have learned, and the following conversation takes place (I don't think a "spoiler alert" is necessary; other than the significance of the book's title, I'm not really giving anything away):

        "There is an old Jewish story that says in the beginning God was everywhere and everything, a totality. But to make creation, God had to remove Himself from some part of the universe, so something besides Himself could exist. So He breathed in, and in the place where God withdrew, there creation exists."
        "So God just leaves?" John asked, angry where Emilio had been desolate. "Abandons creation? You're on your own, apes. Good luck!"
        "No. He watches. He rejoices. He weeps. He observes the moral drama of human life and gives meaning to it by caring passionately about us, and remembering."
        "Matthew ten, verse twenty-nine," Vincenzo Giuliani said quietly. "'Not one sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it.'"
        "But the sparrow still falls," Felipe said.

I recommend this book to anyone who enjoys reading novels of ideas. Novels of ideas that are also cracking good adventure stories.

Don Firth