Last night my prayers ran long.
My back was in agony and my insides felt stretched from the frustrations of illness. I long to do more as a creator, but I must pursue those visions in slow, steady steps. Sometimes this drives me to a sort of despair.
I prayed for healing, for renewed vision—that my creative work would stem from my love for him and for others, rather than myself. It is only that I remind myself that my story ministers to others that I can accept this slow ascending trail.
I went to sleep. At peace, but the longing for wholeness in my heart.
Then, around five in the morning I woke up. It wasn’t the rigid jolts I’ve experienced this last week, awaking from dreams turned sour. This was a gentle and bold awakening.
I lay on my left side most of the time, so I face the darkest corner of the room and maintain the best posture for my back. When I switch sides, I face a window perpendicular to my bed, covered with blinds. I’ve only seen empty skies while looking up through their slits, the black of night, pristine blue, or the gray wash over an overcast day.
This morning, as the very faintest traces of dawn lit the shade of the houses, and the lights of commuting cars occasionally broke the darkness, I rolled onto my right side.
I looked to the window and directly in my line of sight, shining through the blind’s slots was a brilliant star. Slightly golden, and incredibly large, it gleamed in perfect alignment to my eyes.
At first I considered it an airplane. As I watched it rolled gradually downward towards the western horizon, I knew it was a star.
A peace took hold of me. I had never seen a star through that window before, yet here, on the most perfect of moments a star shone, so directly aligned to my line of sight it could not be coincidence.
And in that simple experience of seeing a star so perfectly, in such purposeful alignment, I knew God was speaking to me.
God had given me the gift of a star, a star I would have missed had I not looked back. A star that only a minute later would not have been in my line of sight. A star where I had only seen emptiness.
And I understood that if God could orchestrate such a simple thing as me noticing a star so perfectly, he was doing the same thing for me. That despite the pain and tears, and the fear that sometimes whispers I will be there forever, he is in fact moving the sky and stars to bring me something beautiful.
I’m not sure what that will look like, or when it will come. But just as God directed the stars so I could see the brightest in that cluster so is he directing events for me.
I’m thankful for that promise this season.

stars promise lights personal story testimony lymes disease invisible illness
The brightest star in the very center of the frame is the one I saw. It is named Capella, and is part of the constellation Auriga. It is the sixth brightest star in the sky and the third brightest in the northern hemisphere. It is actually comprised of several stars, which is why it is so bright.

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