Dad built a beautiful house on the lake when we were young. He loved to fish, I didn’t. But there were nights when I climbed into the boat with him and while he was fishing he would point to the constellations. “Look, there’s the Big Dipper. See the Little Dipper next to it. That faint white mist is the Milky Way.”
Something about a dark sky and the twinkle of lights drew me in, it still does.
From my viewpoint two stars shine brightest. I notice the faint blinking light of a plane. The white flash of a comet’s streak. A satellite keeps its slow steady pace across the dark expanse. Like arrows, stars point me to the bigger picture, the enormity of God, and the wonder of His creativity. It’s awe inspiring and magical.
I leave my patio chair for a second cup of coffee when a rustling draws my attention to the yard. Hard running feet halt my steps. What was that? Eyes straining to see, ears perked to attention, I move through a mental check list. A person’s feet… no. Rabbit… too heavy. Hog… don’t think so. I wish I could see, but there’s no light.
For all the wonder of star gazing, I’m unsettled by the thought that millions of stars hanging over my head provide no light to see.
Oh how I’m prone to forget this. Prone to dream of far off places. Prone to trust when I get there all will be well, all will be good, all will be enough. Gazing on the wonder of God’s creation is not the problem. Trusting some far off twinkle in deep darkness to reveal my enough is where the trouble lies.
I hear Isaiah’s words.
The people walking in darkness
have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of deep darkness
a light has dawned.
Sun’s first light creeps over the horizon and one by one the stars disappear. My science teacher’s instruction from long ago comes to mind. “The stars don’t go out. They keep shining even during the day. The sun is the closest star to us, and it provides the light we need. We cannot exist without the sun.”
If I’m honest, really honest, I fail to give the life giving Light my full attention here in this moment, in this place. Dreams of the future nor regrets of the past won’t light my way to living enough. No, the only place enough unfolds in me is the here and now.
This place, this season is where I am, where the Light is and I must remember to be present, to bask in the warmth. Embracing the Light of the present is where all is well, all is good, and I. Am. Enough.