Eyes barely open, cocooned in a pile of fleece blankets on the couch, my two sons find their way to me like moths to a flame every single morning.
On this particularly dark October morning, my oldest son, Pascal, opens the curtains of the living room window before joining my side and exclaims, “Look at the stars, mom!”
I chuckle with acknowledgement, but stay seated with his brother, Lewis, buried in my lap.
Persistent as always, Pascal exclaims again, “Seriously, LOOK AT THE STARS! There are so many! We GOTTA go out and look at them!”
I recognize this moment as one of those times I should yield to my child’s wonder instead of my natural tendency to march along routine. I get up from the soft couch, emerge from my cocoon, and rush out the front door with my boys and husband, Michael, who was already up cooking breakfast. There we are, the four of us in our pajamas, robes and fuzzy slippers in the middle of our dewy front lawn, eyes to the sky as car lights pass by. Pascal yells excitedly, “Look at them! Can you even believe it! It’s awesome!”
It’s as if my son was shepherded by the prophet Isaiah himself, heeding his call to “Lift up your eyes on high and see.”
The stars are piercingly bright, and unimaginably numerous. It’s like God swept every last cloud out of the sky overnight and turned a cosmic dimmer switch all the way up, just for us.
I feel myself shrink as I look up at the immensity spread before us.
In this moment, I know three things to be absolutely true:
-We are a speck amongst a sea of specks that fill the universe.
-God numbered every star and has never lost track of a single one.
-He loves us deeply and will never lose track of us either.*
The fullness of these truths wash over me and pull me into the torrent of God’s love. Instead of drowning, I feel buoyed and safe. I breathe in deep and oxygen fills my lungs. I look at my beautiful boys and feel the impulse to pull them in with me.
“Isn’t it hard to imagine,” I say, “that God created every one of those stars and knows them each by name!? And even better, the God who made all of this knows and loves each of us too!”
We stand there staring up in awe for a few stolen minutes longer.
Michael gets out his astronomy app and identifies the Orion constellation, his belt shining brightly in front of our eyes. Then to the west, Mars, and the east Venus, balls of light much larger than the stars nearby.
The wonders do not cease, but the window of time allotted to pursue them has long been closed.
I shuffle soggy slippered, bleary eyed boys back inside and beckon them to begin the routine again. I thank Pascal for drawing us out of our comfort through his expression of wonder and remind him to grab his library books. I glance at the clock and fight the stress trying to rise in my chest as I shove go-gurt and string cheese into lunch boxes.
I hope the lesson they learned stays with them the rest of the day.
Even better, all their days.
Even better, with me too, and for all time.
(Thanks for making us LOOK, little Pascal)
*wording inspired by Ray Ortlund Jr. in his Preaching The Word commentary: “Isaiah: God Saves Sinners”
This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "Overheard at Home".
I love the way you notice God in the every day Sara, and the way you are cultivating the same trait in your children. ❤️❤️
Beautiful! I love looking at the stars!