In April, I went on a weekend retreat with my fellow booklovers from the Outlander Fanatics of WA state fan club. Not only was it a whole lot of fun, I found myself journaling--writing again--and it's been a long time since I've done any writing at all.
I bought a new laptop yesterday so I'm hoping to change that. In the spirit of writing again, I want to share with you one of the journal entries from that trip.
Now I know why they call it a 'blanket' of stars. Living in the city, I can see two or three stars on a clear night. Here in the country, the stars come out en masse, thousands upon thousands of twinkling bulbs, some bright and some soft and all spectacular.
As I lay on my back, eyes wide to absorb as much of their beauty as I could take in, I realized that this tapestry of stars has always been there. Even in the city where the constant man-made light drowns them out, our pollution and selfishness snuffing the brilliance from our senses, the stars are still there.
The grass tickles my ear, the frogs provided an unending chorus as a soundtrack as God exclaimed in His overpoweringly still and silent way, "I've been here all along. You just don't always see me."
I saw each point of light as a contact, a time in my life when God was with me. Some brilliant and strong, the light intense and powerful, some a muted cluster of presence, so soft and faded that I could scarcely perceive them.
My life, start to finish, displayed on the backdrop of the sky, with thousands upon thousands of moments where God was there, is there, will be there.
And when I'm back at home in the city, gazing up at the one or two stars that have fought through the haze, I'll know the rest are there, hidden from view, but there all the same.
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