It is a sobering thing to consider that there are potentially worlds and stars and entire universes that God has made for just Himself. Realms beyond the peeping eyes of men and angels – for Him, and Him alone to enjoy. I would encourage you, dear reader, to spend some time in the book of Job, particularly chapters 38-41. In it, God answers Job “out of the whirlwind” and presents an astonishing account of Himself, one of majesty coupled with profound intimacy. He is Lord of the morning stars, the Father of the rain, and yet He is gentle and lowly at heart.

There are always those events in life which, despite how eagerly you may await them, always seem to fall short. That vacation you’ve been pining for over the last year reveals itself to be nothing special in the end; the new restaurant you’ve wanted to try for months turns out to be awful; and the highly anticipated final season of your favorite show – well, that is the worst offender of all. Hopefully such occurrences are few and far between, but they happen nonetheless, no matter how vehemently we might push up against them. Indeed, life is full of disappointments.

And then, every so often, things go not only as expected, but far, far better.

Several years ago, before I gave my life to Christ, I was with my family up North during our summer vacation. Not too far North, mind you, but far enough. We were on the Northernmost tip of the Bruce Peninsula in a little town called Tobermory, situated right along Lake Huron. Tobermory was a second home for my sisters and I growing up. Somewhere down the annals of time, my dad ‘stumbled’ upon the place, claimed it as his discovery, and subsequently brought our family there two to three times a year for the next twenty years – it was lovely.

It was rumored during that year in question that there would be a meteor shower on the very same week that our family happened to be cottaging up there. I say ‘rumored’ because, let’s be honest, a healthy skepticism of the weather network is not only an exercise of common sense, but outright wise. After all, even if there was a meteor shower, a lot could still go wrong: it could be cloudy on the nights in question, veiling our view entirely, or the shower could be delayed and trickle into the morning hours, thus limiting the starkness offered by the night sky, rendering the cosmic spectacle mundane.

In God’s good pleasure, none of these inconveniences came to pass. Upon arriving at Little Cove near midnight, a small beach nestled among the pines just off the beaten path, my father, sister, and I were treated to an experience I have never forgotten. Indeed, the heavens themselves seemed to have opened. 

Before us stood the pillar of the Milky Way, our own galaxy, adorned in rich hues of violet and sapphire, shining into the darkness like a jewel. The trail of the Lord’s robe, replete with stars beyond count and colors out of time, flooded the night sky. As the darkness gathered further to the North and South, away from the brilliance of the Milky Way, small streaks of light could be seen as they bowed slowly downwards – the meteors. They looked like satellites at first; tiny pinholes in the universe, leaving razor-thin tails of cosmic dust in their wake. 

It was as though the Milky Way at the center of this drama held the very universe intact, like a mighty braid of stars, leaving the meteors to fall like loose strands of hair to the left and the right. Before us, the impenetrable veneer of the lake, black and void, reflected the heavens back upon itself in an unending, unrelenting symphony of praise to her Maker. Trillions of voices taking up their harps in absolute harmony, one by one, echoing endlessly through the unmeasured plain of the universe.

What I observed during that meteor shower, even as an unbeliever at the time, left an imperishable mark upon my soul, such that I shall never forget it.