On Good Friday this year, I had kind of a strange experience. We returned home after a somber worship service, trudging up the stairs to our home in the dark. I felt a pull, in that moment, to stay outside and lay on our trampoline. I can’t explain it, other than a prompting from the Spirit to be obedient.
“I’ll be in in a few minutes,” I said to my husband and children. “I’m gonna stay out here and reflect for a little bit.”
I slipped off my sandals and quietly eased myself onto the trampoline. I positioned myself in the middle, lying on my back, and closed my eyes briefly, thanking God for just a moment to relax. In the middle of Holy Week as a service coordinator, it was a rare occurrence.
When I opened my eyes, I was overwhelmed with what I saw. So many stars; even a discernible planet or two. It was so beautiful.
The views of the sky are different down here in the Southern Hemisphere, so I don’t often know the constellations I’m seeing from memory. We are close to the equator, so occasionally a familiar grouping of stars will sneak down to say hello (Orion, usually). But most nights, I use a Sky View app that illuminates the stars I am seeing, tells me their name, and shows me planets and constellations. I pulled out my phone and opened it up. Per usual, I couldn’t have picked out much by myself. But I was greeted with a few planets that night, and a few bright constellations.
As I panned my phone around, comparing the projected view to what I could see with my naked eye, I again was met with this inner pulling from the spirit. Could learning the stars be a form of worship? Could I pursue familiarity with the skies as a way to appreciate and rest in the magnitude, the unknowable nature of God?
I knew I needed to get back inside to help get the kids into bed, but I slipped off the trampoline and back into the house carrying this quiet little calling in my heart. I knew the next months wouldn’t afford me time to sit outside for hours. I’m nearly always asleep by 9pm. But I thought, what if I could start small? Some small space of recognition?
The planet Venus, in all of her glory, is nearly always visible to the naked eye in the evenings here in Kigali. Even in the city, but especially outside of the city, away from the bright lights. You’d think at first that it was a star, it shines so vividly in the evenings. It’s often one of the first spots to shine.
So I started with Venus. Every night (when I remembered, let’s be honest), I would make a point to find Venus in the sky. I’d pull out my phone and awkwardly pan around looking for the planet to illuminate. “Hi, Venus,” I would say. Then I’d put my phone away and head to bed.
Eventually, I realized that I could find Venus without the app. I knew which direction to look, remembered the approximate location from the night before. I was learning! Sometimes my nightly routine became as simple as looking out my window.
I also began to realize that, if I lifted my gaze from Venus just slightly, I could almost always find a little, twinkling, red Mars. Another point for me!
A few weeks ago, I took a team of US visitors out to the Eastern part of Rwanda for a safari. Away from my typical star-viewing vantage points, I wondered if I would be able to find Venus in an unfamiliar place. And yet, as we approached the shore from a peaceful boat safari, there she was, shining bright, even early in the evening.
In this moment, as the wind blew in my face and the boat slowed to the dock, I realized that the key to this recognition and familiarity was in the repetition. In the showing up, night after night, and finding what I was looking for. The practicing, the finding. The nightly touch point.
I am often transfixed by new and alluring ways of seeking to know the Lord: apps and meditation techniques and somatic learning and chanting and and and… you get the point. I love the creativity and the exploration, and the Lord has met me in all those places. But the real heart of it all? We come to know the Lord more intimately by just showing up, day after day. In silence. In prayer. In Scripture. The Sunday school answers were really all we needed.
Just like I learned to find Venus in the sky, we learn to find God by looking for him repeatedly, faithfully, day after day. Seeking his face and finding it and learning it and allowing it to orient our consciousness around a new way of being. It’s not fancy. It’s steady. It’s not complicated. It’s committed. It’s the daily touch points that lead us to growth, familiarity, and recognition of His work in and around us.
The more intentionally I walk with Him, the more I find Jesus drawing me into simplicity. Thank you for this.
Such a good reminder and a needed one fir this new, fresh thing addict. Thanks.