November 07, 2007 There's this place to which I retreat when my soul is weary but life's cares leave me sleepless. It's a window to the east. With only a valance and a piece of glass between me and an incredibly clear night sky, I find true north, remembering in one quick instant that everything is under control. That the One who flung the stars into space like a handful of glittering confetti is at the same time well aware of my every need—and cares intimately about me—immediately pulls things back into perspective. That he stays awake looking after things means I can go to sleep.
And I will—just as soon as I have recorded these thoughts—because, human
being that I am, prone to forgetfulness and all, by morning I might forget.
Instead of using more words (which would probably just blur the image), I'll leave you with a challenge to check out the view for yourself next time you find yourself lying awake at night staring at the ceiling. Then, having experienced that brief respite, hopefully you'll be able to join me in celebrating daybreak as it slowly peels back the shroud of darkness—the same shroud that held the pockmarks of life's landscape under cover long enough to experience the splendor of the stars.