//quadrantid

The meteor shower wasn’t supposed to start until three o’clock, but I settled down on the deck anyway, hoping I might see a few lucky precursors while I was still awake. The sky had been gray and thick earlier, the overcast threatening no view of the stars, but miraculously it was clear now. The only cloud visible was a long gray shape on the horizon in the shape of a crocodile’s head. I smiled when I noticed the star winking through the black hole where a crocodile’s eye should be.

Tonight, the stars were not static and immovable; they were twinkling in full energy, and the verse from Psalms floated through my mind – the heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament shows His handiwork.

“Declare,” I mused, cradling my hot cup of coffee – rapidly cooling down in the frigid air – between my hands. “Show.” They were active verbs, those words; anything but passive. Declare. Making a statement, a declaration – the verse implied that the stars themselves were unable to keep silent. The firmament can’t help but show God’s glory, show His loving craftsmanship.

As I sat outside with my head tilted back and my coffee already cold, my face began to numb and I realized I should probably head back inside. I had seen four shooting stars, but they were all seen from the corner of my eye, and by the time I searched for them, they were gone. The night was so beautiful that I wanted to swallow it and taste it and become it. I wish I was kidding for the sake of poetic license, but I’m not. The thought did cross my mind.

Stars are one of my great loves. I can sit for hours and find it hard to go inside when the stars are out, when I can see stars beyond stars beyond stars and the vast, enormous beauty of it all leaves a lump in my throat. Every single time before this, if I haven’t seen a shooting star, I whisper a prayer. ‘Please let me see just one.’ And each time, before this, almost immediately after the last word leaves my mouth or my mind, a star streaks across the sky and fades.

But not tonight. My prayer – it feels like more of a shared secret with the Maker than anything else – is met by the cold twinkling of stars over my head, fixed in their places. Declaring. Showing.

It was odd. I couldn’t remember this happening before, not even once. It was a small thing, but it was a special thing. And I thought, but I had faith in this.

And then I thought, but that’s not faith. My view of faith was wrong, and I hadn’t even realized it fully until just now, sitting wrapped in the cosmos with a cup of cold coffee. Faith isn’t believing God will do something, I thought. It’s believing that whatever He chooses to do is the right thing.

I laughed a little at myself as I unfolded my legs and stood, still looking up, still hoping I might see a shooting star. It felt like a juvenile, obvious kind of ‘revelation’ to have in that moment, but Solomon wrote whole passages on dead vineyards, so I decided, why not this?

I plan to go back out tomorrow night and curl up with another cup of coffee, and wait. Maybe I’ll see falling stars, maybe I won’t, but I know what I will see, if the sky remains clear. I’ll see the stars declaring, and I’ll see them showing, because stars have the right idea.

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7 thoughts on “//quadrantid

  1. This post is so lovely. As per usual, very simple, but always meaningful. Stars have always held a special place in my heart. Before the road in front of our house was finished, my dad, sister, brother, and I would walk about a quarter mile down and I’d look up at the stars. Whenever we’re somewhere at night, I look for the stars – and get disappointed if we’re in the city and can’t see them. When we come home and the sun is set, I look at the stars + moon and say, “thank You” to the One that created them.

    How could we not?

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  2. Hey! I’ve sort of been secretly reading your blog for a while, and I love it. I’m always too shy to comment, though. :)
    Anyway, I just thought I’d tell you (look at me, stepping out of my comfort zone) how much this post means to me. It’s so beautifully written, but it’s also an amazingly simple yet amazingly profound reminder of how faith works, and I needed that today. So thank you.

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    1. Hey, Nickel! It’s so nice to ‘meet’ you – I’m really, really glad you liked this post. And also, I don’t know you but I’m proud of you stepping out of your comfort zone. Thank you so much. <3

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  3. this post gave me chills. I have been in love with the stars since forever. my soul has been in love with them. and the moon! oh, how i love the moon! anyway, i won’t procrastinate, but I had to say…your post touched me because I could practically /feel/ what you described, and /see/ what you described seeing. and the words about Faith…breathtaking. and the few lines you wrote– “The night was so beautiful that I wanted to swallow it and taste it and become it.”– I know /exactly/ what it feels like to have that thought because I have thought it hundreds of times in my short life.

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