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One October evening 13 years ago, I was hiking around Yosemite Valley with a friend just after sunset. We sat on a bench watching in amazement as we realized the blinking lights before us were the flashlight Morse Code signals of the climbers suspended in their hammocks on the face of El Capitan settling in for the night.
But then there were the stars. . .so many stars! As the darkness deepened, more and more stars came into view and we found ourselves, heads tilted back, just looking up. I don’t remember how long we sat like that, but I have a visceral memory of how very small I felt. And I remember what a strangely comforting feeling that smallness was.
So often, our smallness feels frightening, overwhelming, or powerless. In the face of the personal, communal, and global suffering we endure and are inundated with on social media each day, it can feel like the weight of the world is on our shoulders. Progress and change seem almost imperceptible. Persevering and enduring feel like such hard work and hope can feel so far off. We feel so small in the midst of all that feels broken in us and around us in the world.
And then I remember back to that starry night where I felt small, but in a comforting way. I felt grounded that night, almost right-sized –small in the presence of the vastness of God’s creation. It is true that we are small and vulnerable. It also true that that the Lord Almighty has come and will come again. May we rest this season in our smallness, knowing we are seen, known, and deeply loved by the God who was, and is, and who is to come (Revelation 1:8).
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