Thursday, November 19, 2009

On Shooting Stars

November 17 was to have been a good early morning to spot them. I stood, head up, outside in the chill at 3:30 a.m., peering into the southeastern sky, waiting to see God’s glory. Just one. I wanted to see just one shooting star. But none came. Or at least none I could see. The stars blinked, mostly a steady white, some with a bluish tint, some red. Trees arched overhead, their branches playing with the sky. But no meteors. No great crackling flashes in the dark. Quiet. The steady hum of distant traffic and a few small rustling noises from night creatures. So I went inside.

But I had seen God’s glory. Not the mad flashes I hoped for, but the steady constant glory of stars and sky and trees with branches raised.

The heavens are telling of the glory of God; and their expanse is declaring the work of His hands. Day to day pours forth speech, and night to night reveals knowledge. There is no speech, nor are there words; their voice is not heard. Their line has gone out through all the earth, and their utterances to the end of the world. Ps. 19:1-4a

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