Convicted In The Dark

Shakespeare, Galileo, Milton, Kepler, David; each wrote of the stars. Some in verse, some in scientific essays—all in wonder. However numerous their mention, have you noticed stars never grow cliché? 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! ….for ye are a beauty and a mystery, and create in us such love and reverence from afar.”

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 will I do after highschool? Do I pursue a degree? Do I take a job? Where? When? Is 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? How much longer?

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 in half-zeal, half-reverence. “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. It’s time to count the stars and laugh at my smallness; remembering that the God who leads constellations through infinity can guide me, too.