God comes to us

I love a celestial phenomenon, but I never thought I would see the Northern Lights. I certainly didn’t imagine I would see them from my front porch, not far outside Baltimore, in a neighborhood full of light pollution.

But then Thursday night happened. A colleague sent a message and encouraged us to look outside. There was a chance we could see the Northern Lights.

So, my husband and I headed outdoors, gasped, and called for our sons to come and see.

The sky was magical, vibrant with color. In a fun twist, you could see the Northern Lights better with your phone than with naked eye, which just added to the mystery of the whole experience.

We stood and oohed and aahed and took photos. We watched for a bit, came inside, and went back out to check later.

I immediately started calling and texting family and a few friends to go outside. I reached my sister Treasa, who took her children out to see the pink sky. I connected with others—and some saw it and some didn’t.

Natural beauty is meant to be shared. And natural beauty that won’t last has to be shared immediately.

Eventually the sky returned to normal, and the pinks and purples and even twinges of green faded into the darkness of an ordinary—but nonetheless extraordinary—star-speckled sky. But the exhilaration of the experience has stayed.

I might travel to see something so beautiful, though I doubt I would go as far as Alaska. I have driven out on country roads for better celestial experiences, and I love going to see the ocean—to hear the waves crash, watch porpoises alongside the shoreline, and see the open sky.

But in this case, the beauty came to us. We could experience the glory of God’s handiwork from our front yard. That’s true with sunrises and sunsets, a sparking snowfall, the leaves changing color on the trees, a regal deer walking down the street, and so many other moments when we see God’s handiwork right outside our door. It’s just that sometimes I might take those for granted.

What a perfect example of how God comes to us and meets us where we are. We can go looking for him—and we should. But even when we don’t, or when we don’t try all that hard, he will always reach out to us. He will always find us. And he will continue to be present to us, reminding us of his power, his magnificent creativity, his strength in renewing and creating every day, and his all-encompassing love.

Photo by my 14-year-old son

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