I just walked the dog and the night sky blew me away.
What is it about winter, even when it’s mild, that makes the night sky so sharp, so crisp? I could stare at the moon and the stars all night. I guess I’m not the only one…
I often think that the night is more alive and more richly colored than the day. ~Vincent Van Gogh
There’s something so mysterious in the stars. Transcendent. Eternal.
When I was a kid I wanted to go into space. I’d eat up all the science fiction I could…and dream of galaxies far, far away. Sometimes I still pretend, but mostly, I forget that the stars are there. I get caught up in the business of boring grown-up chores and walking with my head down, careful of where I’m stepping.
I forget to live in the moment, and I don’t even mean to live in the moment in some carpe diem way… just, you know, to be present and look at what I’m looking at and see it.
Instead, I seem to be clenched, trying to move three steps ahead at a time, but getting nowhere.
It’s funny that the things that take my breath away…the amazing miracle of God’s creation, whether it’s in the translucent icy brilliance of a snow flake, or a perfectly formed shell on the beach, or the twinkly sparkle of a star…they catch my breath before I begin to breathe again. They stop me in my tracks, like God Himself puts his hand out and says, look.
Look. And see.
Of course, when I do, I see the order and harmony of His creation, and I can’t help but smile and wonder why I’m in such a hurry. Why I’m looking down instead of up. I breathe deeply and calmly and see that in that moment, however fleeting, I see the mystery that is God, revealed in the twinkling of a star, the flash of a meteor, perhaps in the glow of the moon.