June brought in warm evenings like summer's heralding banner, and the rich woolly sky blanketed the sleepy house where some friends and I were cuddled up for a late night. My phone suddenly buzzed at me with a message from my mama, but not the one I was expecting: "Go look outside!"
"Girls--listen to this!" I cried, and we all jumped up, heavy eyelids instantly opened in wonder.
We leapt outside in our bare feet, spiraling in circles with our arms outstretched and our eyes heavenward, trying to spot Jupiter and Venus converging into one visual spectacular. Desperate to beat the expiration of a perhaps once-in-a lifetime sight, we ran down to the golf course, but trees shut us in on every side.
We charged back up to the main road and sprinted down the asphalt, past dark houses that scowled at our wakefulness at such an hour. When I rounded the last bend in the road, coming to where it sprouted off from a busy street, the sky unrolled across the horizon above a treeless field, and there the great conjunction of the two planets shone in a star-of-Bethlehem-like brilliance.
The two planets danced so closely together that their brightness was mesmerizing to anyone who laid eyes on the sight. And we were no exception. The four of us made a rock our arm chair, and I sat in awe with my hands clasped around my legs.
There was no clock to fetter the flitting moments down.
There was no rhythm ticking an impending deadline besides the unison beating of our hearts.
So we watched in reverent silence, our backs masked by the darkness, but our faces lit by the light of the star. With such a sight glittering in our eyes, we couldn't help but sing hymns of praise to the Morning Star, and there was something special about that worship by the roadside that I won't ever forget.
Time lapsed...cars streaked by...but the star, my friends, and I remained.
It struck me as we sat how odd we must have looked to the passersby. But when a busy, harried soul drove by and saw four women with their eyes rapturously fixed on the sky, I wondered if he would follow our gaze and look up, even if just out of curiosity.
In that moment on that warm June evening a chill went down my back. For through my wondering I found a rich nugget that I've carried with me these past six months.
Shouldn't my eyes perpetually be fixed with equally rapturous delight on Jesus the Morning Star?
And shouldn't I be so enthralled by and illuminated with His light that all who pass me can't help but follow my gaze and stare, not at me, but at Who I am looking to?
Yes and yes.
And if at the end of my days it is said that the best analogy for the thrust of my life was that beautiful, worshipful evening of looking up, I will be satisfied. If it is said of my life that all who looked at me couldn't help but look to Jesus because of me, my mission will be complete.
“We Choose to See Vol. 002,” © 2013 AMRenault, used under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial license: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/3.0/.