When we first moved back to the States in 2020, our family was in crisis. Many of you have heard me discuss the effect of our unexpected and abrupt departure after living overseas for so many years. It was rough on our teens, on Kayla, and on me - each in different ways. 

I remember one night, walking the trash to the curb, looking up at the stars, and doubting. Doubting whether or not God saw. Whether or not He cared. And whether or not He would do anything to help. It was a low point for me, to say the least. 

Not a few times since then, I’ve looked up at the same stars and remembered that moment. Now, having worked through the doubts and having received God’s stunning faithfulness over the past 6 years, there’s a part of me that feels bad for doubting - but another part that knows God understands. That He was glad I was moving toward Him in my doubt. 

Recently, the stars have taken on a very new meaning for me. C. S. Lewis, in his sermon “The Weight of Glory,” explores the idea of immortality. He calls us to recognize that every person we see not only lives forever, but also that we will be transformed - either by Christ or by the effects of sin. Listen to how Lewis describes our potential destinies: 

“It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare.” 

Lewis reminds us - “All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal.” 

Growing up, my mom taught me to appreciate the stars. She was a science teacher and constantly taught me. I learned early how to find the North Star and to identify several of the commonly known constellations. I remember the moment she told me that when you look at a star, you’re effectively looking back in time because the light takes so long to travel from way out there all the way to Earth. 

My mom is a rock-solid believer and also taught me to appreciate science. Stars and galaxies that are billions of years old. Scale that’s vast and incomprehensible. The fact that one day even our own sun will run the course of its life. All of these things captivated my young imagination. 

Lewis, too, points us to the finiteness of nature. Everything you see has an expiration date. In “The Weight of Glory”, he also says, “Nature is mortal; we shall all outlive her. When all the suns and the nebulae have passed away, each of you will still be alive.” 

God taught Abraham using the stars. In those teaching moments, he must have felt so small. I doubt Abraham could comprehend then what he may much more fully understand now - that though he couldn’t count them, he would outlive them all. 

Now, when I look up to the stars, all I can think of is how God met me in my doubts. And, how glorious it is that He made each of us to ultimately outlast and outshine them all.