Atlanta Skyline

Jeremy and I stepped out from the chatter of the party onto the deck in his backyard. The party was for two friends moving away to Los Angeles this week and its attendees were married couples, most of which I didn’t really know. The cold air and silence felt good. And this only added to the charm of Jeremy’s fenceless backyard. A few minutes before we had been talking about the possibility of little ones running around. A friend popped out from the house for a minute to say a few things to Jeremy and mention that the hill at the edge of the neighbor’s yard would be great for sledding, provided that the kids don’t sled into the drainage ditch.

Jeremy said that some nights you can see the stars from his deck. At that moment the only lights of the night were flashing tails of planes and helicopters. And all of the sudden I wanted to see the stars. I wanted to lie down across the stained two-by-fours we had been standing on and trace constellations with my hand, to try and see the farthest speckle of light I could, perhaps a window into God's living room.

I did this often in Tucson. The Arizona sky is almost always clear. Kitt Peak isn’t far from the city and so there is an ordinance placed on outside lighting. Street lights are a soft yellow and are few. Lights on houses have to be dim, too. I used to complain about how dark the city was until I discovered how vibrant the stars shine. After that I was thankful. Somehow lying down and looking at the stars became a retreat and a reminder. A reminder that there is more than the tiny swirl of problems and burdens I carry--that I’ll be okay if questions I have now go unanswered for the time being. But the clouds held a blanket over the stars tonight. Only the skyscrapers were shining.

posted by Cameron Lawrence at 00:31