In the still of a waning gibbous night

Written last Tuesday/Wednesday, the waning gibbous reference is not me trying to be all Lewis Carroll with language befitting the Jabberwocky but rather points to the phase the moon was in that night.

My soul was restless today.

As a thought would enter my mind, another would pop out, begging a desperate, "Look at me!" plea reminiscent of that from multiple siblings competing for mother's attention.  "No, look at ME!"  All.  Day.  Long.

Focus and clarity proved elusive despite being much sought after.

Until tonight.

After running errands, we came home and put the kids to bed*, put a movie in and settled in for the night.  It wasn't long into the movie that Seth nodded off, only to wake and trudge upstairs shortly after.  I finished the movie, feeling a wakefulness creep into my mind, and while I enjoyed the story, the soundtrack and the scenery of the film are what really struck my heart.

The quiet of the house sat with me pleasantly after a chaotic, if only mentally so, day.

I needed to get the dogs and let them in, so I went outside, where my soul sang for the night sky before me exuded that clarity for which I'd been so desperately seeking.

Inky and dark the expanse glittered with stars who had no need to compete with the opacity of any clouds - for there were none.  Though the clock read 11:40, the moon was just venturing a stretch off the easterly horizon.  Though emptied some of her recent fullness, she still retained all of the luster present during her peak.  She continued to rise, radiantly and proud as I just marveled on my patio at the ministrations my Heavenly Father was orchestrating to my soul.

 O LORD, our Lord,
       how majestic is your name in all the earth!
       You have set your glory
       above the heavens. ² From the lips of children and infants
       you have ordained praise ^[b]
       because of your enemies,
       to silence the foe and the avenger.
 ³ When I consider your heavens,
       the work of your fingers,
       the moon and the stars,
       which you have set in place,
 ⁴ what is man that you are mindful of him,
       the son of man that you care for him?

* Right about now my reveries were interrupted by hearing Seth and Kelsey squabbling above in my bedroom.  I went and snatched my daughter, who matched my insomnia and later rose me with 3 additional wakeful nights that week, and we shared the evening in silence on the patio.  She drew as I wrote this post the old fashioned way, with pen and pad.

Thoughts from a recent sermon returned to me...

As beautiful and bright as the moon appears to be, in and of itself it is not actually a luminary.  Merely rock and dust, it glows in our night skies because it was made such that it reflects the light of the sun, the true light and center of our universe.  I'm certain that our Creator fully intended the moon to be a light in a darkened world, and yet He deigned it to forever be dependent on another being to display light, unable to generate light of its own.

Humankind is no different.  Made originally of dust, sometimes with hearts as hardened as rock, we cannot generate our own light, yet our sole purpose is to reflect the light of the Son.

Pure.  Simple.  Clarity.

You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden.

Would that we could always have a blank sky to twinkle on, but just like in the night sky, there are often clouds.  They all pass, in life and in the sky.  Sometimes they remain awhile, producing rain - vital to growth and life.  Other times these clouds merely drift aimlessly, shifting shapes, eventually blowing over.  Some follow a seasonal pattern and return year after year like the Santa Ana's.  Still others collide and cause friction, producing sizable storms; storms that sneak upon us and others that are easily predicted.  But, through all of the distractions that clouds bring to the night sky, one thing remains constant whether we can see it or not: the moon always reflects the light of the sun.

Unlike us, the moon doesn't have a choice to reflect the sun.

May I always be willing to reflect the Light of the world - come what may.