Often, if I am running a quick errand in the evenings and I am by myself, I pull over on the side of the road and stare in awe at the wide sky before me. I couldn't stop myself if I tried. There is something about me and a field and the sky that has such a special bond. A history.
One night, nearly 9 years ago, I stood in the middle of a north Texas field and just gaped at the wondrous frontier before me. I was meeting several thousand other college students in a gathering known as One Day and we arrived in time for a great storm to hit. The following morning, the earth was baptized and sparkled and the sky ran forever in front of me. I was enthralled.
Several years before that, at the tender age of 14, I stood in a south Texas field and stared wide-eyed at the sky above. I was mystified. And smitten. I had entered the gates of Zephyr for the first time and taken a walk to sort out my jumbled teenage mind (there was also a boy that I fancied and needed to forget) and the sky met me and smiled down on me.
And yet, some years before that, I have a clear memory of me standing in the middle of a field, even further south than Zephyr. It was a field near my childhood home, in the days when wandering around after dusk was safe and good. I stared up at the first twinkling lights of the stars and held my breath from the beauty of it all.
As time dances on, as my babies grow, as my husband and I age, hand in hand, I stop and look up at the sky and I marvel at how it has not changed. It's beauty still causes me to hold my breath, to sigh deep sighs, and to stop and wonder.
I'm out of words for tonight.
I hope that when I am an old woman, I can still look out and up and feel that same peace. That same pleasure that curls in the very center of me. That part of me that is glimpsing that far country that is my home. Aslan's country. God's country.
from a sky chaser,