Stars

One of my early memories of time with my father is of a time when I was about 5 years old, perhaps 6. He and I were in the back yard of our house in Cincinnati. I’m sure I was up past bedtime, but it was time with Dad, so it was worth it. There, over what had to be several nights in the cool air, he taught me how to find the constellations in the night sky. I can only remember one of those evenings, but it’s very clear in my mind. I remember him naming constellations, and I would look up, and find it in the night sky. I was pretty good if I do say so myself. The Apollo moon missions were in their prime, and space was a big deal to me as a small boy. I used to build 3 stage “Apollo” rockets with my Lego sets. So, the stars held a tremendous amount of wonder and beauty to me. I can remember especially how easy it was to find the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper, or as I was quick to point out to the ignorant, “Ursa Major and Ursa Minor.” I loved locating the North Star. The constellations seem easy to locate in the sky. I can remember thinking how obvious the little dipper seemed to be. The thing that sticks out in my memory is how brilliant those stars looked back then. They seemed to almost jump out of the sky at you. Like someone once said, they were like diamonds on black velvet.

Today, I sometimes step out on my back porch here in Denver, and just take a moment to again gaze in wonder at the stars in the sky. Denver is blessed with clear nights quite often, and I still love to step out and enjoy the view. I can’t remember all the constellations that I once knew. But I still can locate the important ones. Like Ursa Major, Orion and his sword, and of course, I still take the time every time I see the stars to find the North Star. I’m not sure why, but I suppose it’s an homage to those nights with my Dad. Somehow, I feel like if I can find that star, I know I won’t get lost. It’s a habit, and one that always brings an inner smile to me.

Last week I had to drive to Omaha. Circumstances dictated that I had to drive overnight to get there in the morning, so there I was, in the middle of western Nebraska with 3 kids, a dog, and my wife in the middle of the night driving down the interstate. I looked out and saw a star struggling to shine through the clouds. I could only see one star, it wasn’t that bright, and I couldn’t name it if I tried. But it spoke to me. Then I remembered the lyrics of a song.

Then I slept one night in Abraham’s field
And dreamt there was no moon the night he died…
Counting stars.

Selah….

I suddenly remembered something I had noticed the last few years. The stars are harder to see now than they were when I was child. Ursa Minor, or the little dipper as I called it when I was not showing off, is almost invisible to me when I go look for it. Go look when you get a chance. When I was a child, it was clear in the sky and it was easy to see that constellation. Now I have to locate the north star from Ursa Major, and use it as a reference to locate the other stars in the constellation because the rest of the constellation is so faint. Let’s be clear here, the stars are not dimmer, they are just harder for us to see. There are many reasons that a scientist could give you for this phenomena, ambient light from the cities, pollution, sometimes clouds are in the way, perhaps my eyes are getting old. Taken all together, I think it’s fair to just say that “life” as we know it is dimming the view.

Now if I noticed a difference in the stars over just a few decades, can you imagine what it must have looked like to Abraham 4000 years ago? When we read of God’s promise to have his children number like the stars in the sky, it sounds like a bold promise to us, but imagine how much bolder that must have been to a man who’s only ambient light was a campfire? When the only pollution in the sky is the smoke from that fire? The stars on a clear moonless night must have been absolutely breathtaking. Imagine the Milky Way spreading across the clear night from a shepherds field back then. Think of the joy he could have felt every night as he thought about that promise. Think of how big that promise is today, but how much bigger it must have seemed then.

The message I got that night while driving through Nebraska was that God’s promise didn’t diminish over time, but my ability to see it has. His promises for Abraham, and for me, are just as bold, just as big, and just as breathtaking as they always were. But sometimes, life clouds the view. We can’t always see the depth or breadth of his promises because sometimes there’s pollution in the way. Sometimes we’re in a city and the light of stuff around us makes it harder to see. Sometimes it’s cloudy. Sometimes, it’s daytime. The stars are always there. God’s promise is always there. Being able to see it is a great reminder of those promises. But I should always take solace in the truth that just because I can’t see the star doesn’t mean it’s not there.

I needed that word. The next 5 days were very hard, and the word carried me through the week. Sunday night, while driving back to Colorado, exhausted, frustrated and tired after a tough week, my wife and I got another celestial show. A brilliant shooting star fell slowly through the night sky as we drove home. It was another reminder that God’s always putting on a show for us, and even when a star falls from the sky, the number of stars in the sky never diminishes. God’s word is always just as big as ever.

So, take a moment and go look at your stars. If you can get out of town and climb a mountain to get a glimpse of the clear sky do it. Take the time to think for yourself about God's promises to you during your life. Look at those promises God made to you over the years that now look dim and distant. Dust them off in your heart, and remind yourself how bright and brilliant and breathtaking his promises are. God’s promise for you is still there. No matter how cloudy the night, the stars are always shining. So, take a moment to find your North Star, and smile at the maker and finisher of your dreams.