There is something about the heavens that brings perspective. Standing below them, hope hovers close to my heart. The brilliance of the stars contrasts with the black of the sky and the juxtaposition is breathtaking. Gazing up reminds me how small we are. How quick life passes. How unimportant my biggest problems are. There is comfort beneath the blanket of the heavens. I crawl under it each night, sometimes unaware of the celestial show above me.
Other times, like last night, I stand in awe of the creation. I try to name the stars and remember their places. I draw on knowledge from childhood to see them and know them. But that long-ago knowledge has faded over time, and at some point, I give up trying to name them and just stand. Beneath God’s string lights. Out in his backyard. I am beneath and not above.
I pray. Standing in a field with three of my heart friends. We have prayed together since our children were young, and are praying still. Social distance has kept us apart long enough. We each stand, wrapped in blankets still warm from being beside the fire pit for hours. Laughing, crying, and then up the hill to prayer. A circle of women, distanced but together again. Tears flow as hearts are spilled out under the stars. Our thirsty souls connect with the heavens and each other. We inhale deeply of our fellowship. We exhale our burdens. We inhale the beauty of the moonrise. We exhale the stress of life. We mirror the stars in our worship. They pulse and we pulse, all creation cries out the glory that surrounds us.
All will be well. God has carried us before. He will do it again. He will never stop doing it. The heavens declare it, therefore it is so.