Once upon a time, I saw the skies through the eyes of a child.
I don’t anymore.
Let me explain.
I love looking at the stars. I have spent hours unsuccessfully attempting to wrap my brain around the sheer vastness that is our universe. There is something terrifying and yet relieving in acknowledging that there was more to life than the current moment. Something is comforting in feeling so small. This is the peculiar kind of therapy the stars would give me.
Shooting stars were the most amazing thing. The glimpse you could get of a star, hurtling through space. Some shooting stars flew by, as if in a rush. Others seemed to just float by, taking their time. Seeing a shooting star was like finding a hidden treasure, you knew it could happen, but wondered if it would happen to you.
I have spent many a slow walk from the car to the back door praying that God would give me a shooting star. That, through His creation, He would remind me of His vastness and control. I would pray, and then set my bag on the ground and wait.
I would wait for minutes.
Do you know how long five minutes is when you are quiet, alone, and focused?
Five minutes can seem like a lifetime.
Some nights a shooting star would fly by and I would smile my thanks to the God who listens and answers my silly prayers.
Some nights no shooting stars would come my way. Regardless, I would still smile, because God still listens. A lack of shooting star in no way meant a lack of God.
Recently, I’ve become so tired. As I return home from a long day, I grab my bag, close my car door, and gaze at the heavens. I ask God for a shooting star, look for a moment, and then wearily walk to the door of my house.
I don’t wait anymore.
Do I doubt God’s accessibility or wanting to hear me?
Do I doubt God’s capacity to care for my somewhat silly desires?
Do I doubt God’s ability to show His unadulterated love?
No, it’s none of those.
Maybe it’s me.
Maybe I doubt myself.
Maybe I doubt my worthiness of God’s affection.
Maybe I doubt my ability to wait for God to move.
Maybe I doubt my willingness to stand and wait, still and quiet.
That sounds more accurate.
I used to see the skies as a child saw the skies, a big vastness of beautiful everything. But I’ve become so busy that I have forgotten how to see things as a child does.
If I don’t take the time to revel in God’s accessibility, how am I ever to see myself as a child of God, one who can come to Him with anything?
If I don’t take the time to be floored by God’s capacity to care, how am I supposed to see myself as worthy of His love?
If I don’t take the time to be thankful for God’s ability, how am I to believe that He has the power to take care of my every need?
I must once more become the child star gazing, taking in the wonder and majesty of a God who can create something so much greater than me. And in the midst of all that greatness, still care for my heart.
I must once more, see the skies through the eyes of a child.