UP (Tuesday 21 April 2015)

          When did you last look up? Not the up from your shoes to see what you are walking by, up from your smart phone at the real people around you nor up to follow a well hit baseball. But up? Laying flat on your back, hands behind your head, after sunset light breeze blowing by, out in the open, eyes relaxed kind of up? Up to see God’s Day #4 handiwork? Tonight I let down my hair, laid down on the compound’s knee-high-grassed center flowerbed and just        looked      up.

            As the sky changes from robin egg blue to indigo to navy, more and more stars start to peek out. I try to count them, but soon there are more than I can number. As I waited for dark the questions emerged.  How have these stars been in the sky all day and I am just now seeing them? Like the sun blinding out the stars, what have I unconsciously been blinding out of my life or blinding the people around me?  I find Orion and marvel that this is the 7^th country that I can remember finding it. How can the world be spinning at a million miles per hour, yet it’s always the same stars?

            When the power is out (like it is now) one can see stars scattered like sequins on a black dress or, like Timon claims, “fireflies that got stuck up in that big bluish-black thing.”  They shine their twinkle of light. While wishes are made, games played, and images connected on these “balls of gas burning billions of miles away” (Pumba), their presence helps me put things into perspective.

            To the stars I am like a microscopic speck of dust to Paul Bunyan--one of billions inhabiting a small patch on his left vest pocket. Contrary to being depressing, this gives me peace. First, it makes my problems and worries seem nearly non-existent. What is smaller than a microscopic speck of dust particle? That is what my problems amount to in the scheme of the world. Secondly, it takes the pressure of expectations of being the best, perfect teacher, person, Christian that I feel wear on me during the day. The world will not fall or crumble if I do. Most importantly it makes me feel loved beyond comprehension. The God who holds all of this in His hands cares about me (and all of us) the microscopic specks of dust, with forgiveness, patience and guidance. “The hem of his robe fill a temple” (Is. 6:1) but He still cares to offer children His lap. I’m a dust particle to God, but an irreplaceable dust particle.

            Even before looking for the stars, I look for the moon. My Grandma Marilyn instilled a love for moons in me probably while I was still in my crib. She collects them. Any Christmas or birthday, we just had to have a moon ready for Grandma. In her sewing room is a stitched moon and star I made when I was in kindergarten. There is a small board painting I brought back from Tanzania hanging on a different wall with a moonscape. We had to search for a moon and star wind-mobile when on a Mission Trip to Mexico one year. My cousins, brothers and I love to fill up the moon-designed glasses with lemon-aid when taking a break from swimming. We once tried to count how many moons are in our Grandparents’ house. Beside the gazillion on quilt fabrics, we counted over 70. I’m sure there are many more we missed.

            While there may be many moons decorating my Grandparents’ house there is only one that glides through the black, unfathomable space above. That is why I look for it first. Because I know that that is the same moon my Grandparents see reflected on the smooth lake, Dad sees out an RV window, Mom sees on her 4:30 AM run and friends see through pine needles, above horse barns, or peeking out behind stubborn clouds. I maybe far from all of them, but having the same moon makes the distance not seem so far.

            You know what truly seems remarkable about the moon to me? Unlike the stars, it doesn’t create its own light. It just reflects. However, unlike a mirror that reflects what is relatively close, the moon’s source is millions of miles away. That’s only part of the mystery. The other part is that we don’t see the sunlight traveling through the expanse to get to the moon. It’s not like a flashlight that we can see the projector from the side or underneath. We only know that sunlight arrives at its destination based on the size of the moon that night. Tonight the moon was just a fingernail clipping of a sliver. But the distant, powerful light still made it.

            It’s must be exhausting being the sun: burning all the time, causing others to worry when you’re going to take your first day off, being in a constant state of gas. I want to be like the moon. Not to be big and lazy, just sitting around, but to reflect a source greater than I will ever truly understand. Being Christian allows me to do that.

            Jesus claimed that he “was the light of the world” (John 8:1) and (1 John 1:5)  supports that “in him there is no darkness at all.” The role of the sun is filled because “God sent His only son into the world” (John 3:16). Darkness is in the world in many shapes and sizes. We can thank the crafty Satan serpent in Genesis for starting off that trend. There is a sun, and people are trapped in darkness; therefore, there needs to be moons. For as John  states “the darkness cannot overcome the light” (John 1:5). We could be like stars. But, unlike stars that eventually die as they’re running on their own sources, the moon is reflecting a source that is the same yesterday, today and tomorrow. I try to run on my own source and burn out. “But with God all things are possible” (Matthew 19:26) so why not focus on Him?

            I once had a friend encourage me to spend 15 minutes every night just looking up. The excuses why I didn’t have time could be listed, though I’m sure many are familiar to you. Tonight I lost track of time. Sure, there were bugs flying and crawling around, odd sounds filtering through the night and dinner postponed, but I was reminded of my ultimate purpose: To live a life worthy of the calling I’ve received (Ephesians 4:1) by reflecting God to others. Some days its may seem like a struggle to even get a sliver out to others, while other days the blessings fill my plate. But that is when you just have to get on your knees and look up.