When I Look at the Stars

In deepfall, I went on a youth retreat out in rural Tennessee, about 45 minutes south of Nashville. We drove down winding, rural roads, chasing the sunset the whole way. As we unloaded and settled in, several of us ventured out to a nearby field. Next to a group of glow-in-the-dark frisbee-ers, we laid on our backs in the scratchy November grass and stargazed.

My, what a show it was. Shooting stars all over the place!

Not just once did they remark, "these are the most incredible stars I've ever seen!" And the stars sure were great, especially coming from the "bright lights" of Nashville. I mean, growing up a Chicagoan, I think even Nashville's city stars are pretty great.

But having lived in the second most sparsely populated country in the world, my standards are pretty skewed these days.

Over these past six months when people have mentioned how remarkable the clouds look, or how stunning the sunset is, or how clear the stars are...I've been itching to say, "But wait! You have no idea - there's a place where they're even more incredible!" And at first, I always did say that. I would try to describe the sunrises on my walk to school in Ohangwena. I would try to explain how you could vividly see the cloudiness of the Milky Way within minutes of the sun setting in southern Namibia. I would emphasize over and over and over again that African sunsets are incomparable.

But try as I might, I haven't convinced anyone yet. Maybe it's impossible to. I can never find deep enough words or vivid enough photographs to convey my message. And thus, as of late, I've stopped trying. I didn't even make an attempt to tell the high schoolers what they were missing out on.

One Sunday, I was reminded of when Luke says, "though seeing, they may not see; though hearing, they may not understand (8:9)." How often I read things in the Bible that seem great, but I just cannot fully grasp. Like God's grace and mercy. Or the depth of my sin. How often I exclaim what a blessing something is. Or how such-and-such is like heaven on earth. What do I know?

I can just see God chuckling at my exclamations. Such as when I return from an exceptionally great coffeedate full of good heart to heart conversation and think on how incredible God's provision of companions is, or how comforting and real the community of believers is. God must smile and say, "But, Karen, wait! You have no idea - there's a place where that's even more incredible!" But try as He might, there's no way I will ever fully understand the depth of this community until Christ returns.

And thus are the sunsets and sunrises and stars at night. When I look at the stars, I see a sky that has so much more depth than the sky we see on this side. And yet, I still can't imagine the depths of the heavens above us. While I'm still frustrated by my inability to convey that which none of my dear friends here have ever seen, I am humbled by my inability to clearly see the things God is try to show me. So I will keep trying to explain the African sky, and keep remembering how clouded my own vision still is.