Shakespeare, Galileo, Milton, Kepler, David; each wrote of the stars. Some in verse, some in science - all in wonder. However numerous their mentions, have you noticed stars never grow cliche'?
Scientifically speaking, we know these orbs are only the gaseous dustballs of the universe with no potential to support human life, and yet staring at them sends us into a speechless stupor. Lord Byron, a poet rarely caught without a quip, could not begin to describe them: "Ye stars! Which are the poetry of heaven!"
Unfortunately for me, my thoughts seldom reach as high as the heavens. My thoughts tend to stick to the solid, predictable and unoffending ground.
What do I do with this extra time I now have since I've graduated? What if the college doesn't accept my SAT scores? Have I picked the right degree? Do I take a job? Where? When? Am I doing this right? Will God allow me to feel His Presence or must I trust blindly? Must I continue fumbling in the dark, groping for a light switch?
But when the lights are off, the stars are easier to see. Galileo admitted, "I've loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night." Maybe that's the wiser perspective.
Isaiah wanted us to adopt this view when he cried, "Do you not know? Have you not heard? Has it not been told you from the beginning?" Finger pointed to the sky, the wizened prophet must have shouted, "Lift your eyes and look to the heavens: Who created all these? He who brings out the starry host one by one, and calls them each by name. Because of His great power and mighty strength, not one of them is missing." (Isaiah 40:21, 26)
When attempting to figure out my future, I used to feel stuck in the dark; but I'm now of the opinion that "in the dark" should no longer be a synonym for ignorance and confusion. Instead, it's a doorway into clarity. In the absence of man-made lamps, which illuminate at my command, I'm powerless. I can't trust myself. Reflection is all I have to do.
And so I count the stars and laugh at my smallness; remembering that the God who leads constellations through infinity can guide me, too.
(Photo courtesy: Pinterest)
The words seemed to leap off the page.
Propelled to my inner thoughts with intense meaning. Inside I could feel the conviction of the words and their truth seep into my mind. A weight settled inside. I scrambled to straighten out the words pouring through the pages of my soul.
". . . Fragile heart . . ."
The first words I begin to understand.
Reading is my before-bed tradition. Reading anything . . . the Word, Mr. Putter and Tabby (I'm a child at heart, don't judge me), a Christian devotional, old letters . . . and I always have my quote notebook out, just in case I come across a profound thought that deserves to be written down. But there are times that I feel almost sure that God does some writing of His own. Some days the words seem to be written just for me.
The page is small, the words are crowded, the meaning is powerful to me.
"Handle with care," a message about our vulnerable and fragile lives and hearts.
My thoughts stubbornly acknowledge: "You've hurt others."
"I've been hurt. Hurting people hurt people," I defend myself.
" . . . forgiving others more readily . . ." I continue to read on paper pages.
"I know I've been wrong and done my part in the cat fight with her, but frankly, it's her fault."
I fight back the tears gathering in my frustration and confusion. I squeeze my eyes shut. I wait.
The words rip through me: "Lord, please, help me to understand her."
I open my eyes to receive moments of another's memories that my mind unravels. Scenes flash crossing my eyes. The same memories, yet different in a way I cannot ingest. Slowly I realize what I've done . . . I've seen through another's eyes.
Slowly, I let out the air, realizing that I've been holding my breath.
"God, is this what I'm supposed to see? Her side? . . . I have been hurt. But I've also hurt both of our fragile glass hearts. But forgiveness . . . I want to forgive. I want to be forgiven."
And so now, with this revelation, I begin the journey. Sometimes, fragile hearts are slow to heal, even slower to trust another into the inner-most chamber of our being. As I continue to remind myself the importance of another's perspective in all I do, I will attempt to tread carefully in the dance of communication. One's heart is not only fragile, but a gift to be held in utmost reverance and care.
Photo courtesy of Of All Loveliness
