June’s Singular Spectacular Light

The June night was bracing-cool. Like October, but without the promise of painted leaves. Here in the Smokies of east Tennessee, June’s muse and beauty is the firefly's staccato glow. That's what we turned aside to see, my Preacher and me; bushes burning with gentle, tempered specks of flame.

We were together in the wilderness of our national park, glad to be where neon is not normal, and all around was unopposed, purple dusk.

I felt staggered by the glory of those million fireflies, each one lit from within by some kind of genius that is wholly something otherworldly. The tall grasses, the fence line, the trees, the entire horizon glittered and blinked. As far as we were concerned, the whole earth was filled with darting gleam and moving shimmer. Well, it was “the whole earth” where we were. And can anyone be any place but where she is, beholding?

It wasn't impressive, like a fiery transcendent sunset. It was important, which is impressive’s more mature essence. No one else drove hours to be in this spot to acknowledge this scene. After all, it wasn’t splendor, like the aurora borealis. It was sparkle, which is splendor's lingering train. Sparkle is like the backside of a beauty so bright, we best only focus on the leftover glow. Sometimes, sparkle is what you get to experience, when you say to God, "Show me Your glory!”

See, this is something I know, now that I’m a grandmother: when your heart is tuned and trained to detect it, sparkle is as soul-nourishing and as powerful as splendor. Like a lover, capturing the attention of the beloved, one glittering glance can speak volumes into the soul of the relationship.

That night, I looked and looked in front of me for a long time - and then I looked up.

Unhindered starlight! Never had I ever seen a night sky like this! Remember I said that the night was bracing-cool? There wan't even a smidge of humidity to un-crisp this sight. I looked and looked up for a long time - and then I crouched low to lay right down on the concrete of that deserted road. The Preacher, who is an avid night-sky-shooter, put away his Nikon to join me. He was able to tell…we were going to be there for awhile. He was able to see that what I really wanted, was to look all night.

Prone on the sun-warmed slab, bad back be hanged, silver hair bathed in silver moonlight, I star gazed. For hours. Every now and then I thought I saw a shooting star, but it was actually a firefly high in the sky. The thought occurred to me that this was the first time since I was a little girl that I simply and singularly enjoyed the stars. As a teenager, I was too busy trying to be a star, to fling myself down to see the stars. As a mother, I star gazed with my children, and loved every moment, but was too busy teaching about stars. I was preoccupied with making sure my little ones saw the stars.

Not this night. This night, there was finally a singular, full-on wonder. This night, there was flat-out, flat-on-my-back fascination. The Preacher was so relaxed by this time, his eyes had fallen closed, and his breathing had deepened into that place of even sleep. So, very quickly and shyly, I blew my Heavenly Father a kiss. Silently, I asked Him for His kiss in return. It was exactly then that I really did see a shooting star. It was like all heaven was high-fiving the revelation that worship is wonder, plain and simple.

I laughed out loud, and blurted, “You’re crazy, God!” It just came out. The Preacher startled, and looked at me quizzically. For a split second, I wondered if I’d been too intimate and casual with those blurted words.

But no. I sensed the Lord smiling up His sleeve. I knew He’d received that flat-out-prone, astonished blurt as worship.

When surrounded by sparkle, the only appropriate response is to worship. For future reference, when you find yourself looking at left-over splendor, placed around you to be seen and savored, face-up prone is greater than face-down prostrate. And blurts are completely acceptable, and all is still worshipful astonishment. I ran in the strength of those prone moments for many days. In some ways, I am still running in the strength of them. Such is the comealongside role of beauty in the ordinary. It gladdens the heart, and whatever gladdens the heart strengthens the life. Where there is so much as just a sparkle of beauty, there is a place for the soul to mightily, deeply rest.

There’s charm in romancing the sparkle instead of waiting for days of splendor. I believe those who can turn aside for flecks of flame in small bushes are the very ones the Lord can trust with large lands, flowing with milk and honey.

Of course, I’m home now. I’m not still out in the national park, writing this with paper, ink, and a feather quill, surrounded by mountain views and mountain laurel. I wish I was, in one way. But in another way, I know that “important is greater than impressive”, and it is very important for this grandmother to step outside my urban front door to go chase the beauty.

So as I head outside tonight, it is years later and smack-dab in the city. My home is two blocks away from a pawn shop and my front porch can sometimes vibrate with the sound of motorcycles and mariachi music from down the street.

No matter. I have many times, and will still this very evening, crouch low and go prone on the sun-warmed slab of our cul-de-sac. I have many times, and will still again seek the sparkle instead of waiting for the splendor. Beauty can come alongside me and fortify me right where I am, as I enjoy “my own” fireflies and early-summer stars.