Cloudy Stars

The dark mornings in autumn each year mean the return of one of my favorite daily rituals: as I walk our dog each morning, I gaze up at the sky and study the stars. Our neighbor has an ancient evergreen that towers over our street, and I love to see it silhouetted against the night sky. I can't explain my fascination, exactly. It's beautiful, and it draws me in. The stars make me feel a connection to all the generations that have come before me and gazed at the sky on mornings just like this one. But maybe more than anything, they remind me that I am small, and that there is infinitely more in existence than my own small world. They are my reminder of God's power and majesty. 

That was the reminder that I needed this morning as I stepped outside. My small world, like that of many others, has been full of challenges and obstacles that are too big to resolve on my own. I've been wrestling with them and striving and fighting--and still, nothing has changed. I craved the stars--needed them--this morning. I needed their beautiful expansive infinity. 

But there were no stars. Instead, the sky was blanketed with thick, heavy clouds. There was a humidity in the air that promised rain. I was so disappointed. I found myself praying as I walked, "Just one star, God. Please, let there be just one star for me this morning." I prayed it over and over as I walked the length of our street. 

Expect it, I heard whispered to my soul. If you ask me for it, expect it. 

I turned my eyes to the cloudy sky. There were stars behind the thick blanket of clouds, I knew this. But somewhere, somewhere high above my street, there had to be one star visible. I squinted and searched, I studied the sky intently. I waited and prayed. But no stars appeared. 

I had been walking for far too long, and it was time to return home. I turned my back to the old evergreen and headed back down the street. Maybe it was silly to pray for a star, after all. 

As I faced away from my usual star-gazing direction, I kept my eyes trained on the sky. The view that suddenly met me was stunning. The first streaks of light were appearing at the edges of the horizon so that the heavy clouds were just visible in the darkness. They streaked and rolled across the sky, a dramatic ceiling that seemed to stretch on forever. The sky looked so massive, so expansive, that it took my breath away. 

It was a completely new perspective, beautiful in its own way. It had the drama of a painting, and the same ability to remind me that I (and all of my problems) are a speck in the wake of such enormity. But the softness of the clouds and their relative closeness to me was a comfort, as though they hemmed me in and reminded me I'm not alone and at the mercy of the vastness of eternity. 

Maybe there are no stars for me this morning, I thought, but maybe the revelation is in a different kind of infinity, a different beauty. Maybe this is what I needed. 

I walked on, inspired by the beautiful view. But I remained disappointed. I had asked for something specific, had prayed for it. I had searched and waited. I needed a star. 

I was nearly home and resigned to a starless walk. But something whispered, expect it. Expect it. I peered up at the clouds above, and there, just above me, I saw it. Not one star, but two. They hung side by side, blinking in the midst of the clouds, as clear as beacons. 

My stars. 

The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they display knowledge. There is no speech or language where their voice is not heard. (Psalm 19:1, NIV)

For ever since the world was created, people have seen the earth and sky. Through everything God made, they can clearly see his invisible qualities--his eternal power and divine nature. (Romans 1:20, NLT)

Ask for him. Ask for him to be revealed. And expect it, friend. Always expect it.