When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars that you have established,
what is man, that you think of him,
and the son of man, that you visit him?
On one of my first dates with my now-husband, we went stargazing. Laid out under the summer sky on the outdoor stage of our ministry’s campground in the middle of the southern Indiana hills, we talked about the deep stuff of life while the summer night grew darker and darker. Somewhere in the midst of conversations about prayer and purpose and where we stood in our faith journeys, one day crossed over into the next, and there was a noticeable shift in the sky above us; I hadn’t until that moment, and have never since, seen so many stars all at once. It was like that midnight hour transported us to the very center of the galaxy, a slice of God’s creation only visible at a certain time and in certain places. It was a lightshow just for us.
In that moment, seeing the wonder of so many innumerable stars, how the sky was so dusted with their powdered-sugar glaze it was nearly light out, more than ever before I understood the awestruck wonder and sense of being so infinitesimal that must’ve driven the Psalmist to write these words. To think that those countless galaxies were breathed into being at a mere word from the Creator, that He might’ve spun His finger like a maestro and conducted the birth of nebulae, planets, and stars…there is more out there in space than we will ever reach or explore in this life. The expanse of it appears limitless to our mortal eyes.
And yet for all the vastness of the universe He created, God sent His Son to redeem us. He visits (that is, sends blessings or shows favor toward) us. The One who whispered the world as we know it—and every aspect that we don’t—into being, still has the time, the care, the heart and the pleasure for us to call us His own!
Sitting under the stars that night, I realized two things: I am very small, and I am very loved. Not just by the man I was sitting with, who I was deciding right then I’d be just fine spending the rest of my life with, but by the God who created me, and him, and this world, and all the wonder to behold in it and beyond it. Who are we that He would think of us, dream us up, build us into the script of history? Yet here we are. Here you are, reading these words, and I hope you realize how magnificent that is, and how loved you are. I hope you know that the star-breather and world-maker, the Father of Lights, thinks of you and visits you and blesses you.
The next time you’re outside at night away from the pollution of lights and the clouds and distractions, look up. Remember Who formed the heavens and Who formed you. Give thanks to Him for both. Take a moment to breathe in all that majesty, and remember that though we are small, we are thought of, cared for, remembered, visited, blessed. Loved.
And may you always remember that from now on, when you see the work of His fingers and all the splendor He has established.