One of the unique benefits of living in the country is that on almost any given night you can step outside, turn your eyes upward, and be reminded by a canopy of stars that we are created by the God whose brilliance and artistry surpasses our frail ability to comprehend just how grand a creator He really is.
I had one such moment a few weeks back, just watching the night sky as glittering frost reflected the rising moon, which itself was encircled by a breathtaking halo. It got me to thinking about all of the places I’ve been blessed to visit, and how the stars are always the same, yet somehow always different.
If I had to whittle it down, I’d say that summertime stars in Arizona’s Monument Valley comprise the most breathtaking night sky I have ever seen. There are few remaining places in the United States where artificial light on the horizon is so scarce, creating a dramatically dark backdrop for a stunning display not easily forgotten.
The stars in the South Dakota Badlands strike you in a similar way, hovering above the pale rock formations like so many angels just waiting to dance.
In Oregon’s Columbia River Gorge the stars are harder to find, shielded from earth by lush forests that thrive in the region’s constant rains.
On Glacier National Park’s Going-To-The-Sun Road you are convinced its twisting course will lead you close enough to touch the heavens if you just dare to reach out your hand.
On stretches of Florida’s remote Gulf Coast, away from the lights and the more popular destinations, fields of stars appear to plunge into the foaming waves, leaving you wondering where the stars end and where the distant shrimp boat lights begin.
And who among us who witnessed the totality of this year’s solar eclipse will ever forget the Ring of Fire and how it leaves us speechless, even now, to properly describe?
But I suppose that wherever my paths lead, I will never see a star like the star that appeared on that first Christmas night so many years ago.
It was a star like no other, revealing to all who sit in the great darkness of sin that in Bethlehem of Judea, the long-awaited Messiah, the one spoken of by prophets of old, was born.
It was a royal birth announcement, a light shining in the darkness, a heavenly sign that love had arrived in the form of a newborn baby who had come to save the same world that would one day nail him to a cross as his mother’s heart broke into a million pieces.
He had to be sinless. He had to be human. He had to be God. He had to be King.
He had to be Jesus.
Nothing on earth would ever be the same again.
No, I don’t imagine I’ll ever see a star like that.
But just knowing that there really was a first Christmas star, and that there really is hope for all who believe in the One whose birth that star announced, gives me more joy than any other star I could ever see in this life.
And so, on this most blessed of days, let us raise our hearts and sing of this great King,
He rules the world with truth and grace,
And makes the nations prove
The glories of His righteousness
And wonders of His love,
And wonders of His love,
And wonders, wonders, of His love.
May you have a blessed and peaceful Christmas.
Mike Fichter
President and CEO
Indiana Right to Life
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