It was late in the day when I remembered. Weeks before, I had checked our November Nature Friend. The Geminid meteor shower was tonight.
I had never seen a “shooting star,” and I didn’t really expect to see one at all. But I stepped outside because maybe, just maybe, I’d get lucky.
Even though this was Texas, the warm state, it still got cold after dark in the middle of December. So, with a jacket on, I opened the back door and went out to the deck. I didn’t tell any of my six siblings about the shower—not yet. I wanted to see one first to make sure it was really there.
I only had to stand with my face turned up to the stars, practically pleading for one meteor, for a few moments, before God sent me my “star.” The most beautiful meteor, and only meteor, I had ever seen, lit up before my eyes. It streaked across the sky in a breathtaking arc. Almost as soon as it appeared, it was gone.
I stood out there for a while, staring at the sky, unable to believe my luck. But it wasn’t luck; it was a blessing.
And seeing something so rare and beautiful, all alone, gave me such a feeling of smallness and awe, it can hardly be explained. It was almost like having God speak to you in a whisper that you might hear when you’re alone in the forest on a lovely spring day.
We, my siblings, and I, spent a few more hours outside watching for the little meteors. But none felt so special to me as my “star.”
