I dreamt with stars, thousands of them.
Luminous jewels pinned upon the velvet curtain of night.
“Come look!” I beckoned, but others were slow in emerging from the wide field of cornstalks.
I gestured to the sky, yet few looked.
The soft whimpers of a faceless woman broke my gaze.
Found her hunkered down, head between her knees.
From this dream I woke, an eruption of divine insight clamors inside of me.
Now I understand why I rise before the sun—this woman is an assignment of sorts.
I, an earthen vessel, where the wind of the Holy Spirit lingers, understands healing is a possibility amidst the long halls of noisy classrooms and overworked educators.
Did you know some stars are more luminous? That it’s the energy within a star which determines how bright it shines.
Sometimes emotional pain radiates as bright as stars.
What if emotional pain used more energy than joy and happiness?
This is beginning to make sense to me, no wonder it takes more facial muscles to frown than it does to smile.
Silvery moonlight guides me along the curvy foothills of Litchfield County. It takes a good forty-five minutes before the sun—our closest star—warms a group of naked trees on the left side of Route 8.
A lone, bone-white tree stands out amongst the rest—a sliver of glory in early winter morning, my eyes well up. Ordinary and divine converge.
Funny how small glories appear unexpectedly.
Ordinary, but divine nonetheless.
It’s in everyday moments, divine assignments reveal themselves.
They say the naked eye can only see 3,000 stars on the clearest of nights. What could our spiritual eyes see if we asked God?
What if you and I hold our own kind of star-dust?
A Power God gifts us in order for someone’s healing.
A power not meant for containment, but meant for sharing those walking through their own kind of barren wilderness.
The God within us isn’t meant to be contained, it’s meant to combust like explosive energy burning up luminous stars.
This is why I’m wishing you a thousand stars.