I saw both the moon set and the moonrise yesterday. It was nearly full and spectacular. Silver white against the deep blue of the predawn sky, just above the horizon of the jagged mountains to the west of our desert valley, it took my breath away. In fact, I had to change my running route so I ran directly west for a full mile so I wouldn’t miss a second of it that was possible for me to see. Fabulous.
Then last night, after the Boy Scout banquet, we were all piled in the truck and heading for home. I happened to glance to the east, and there coming up over the brow of the eastern ridge was the golden yellow moon. I gasped. “Look!” I told my husband and kids. They all saw it, and then I made my husband turn a U and go drive east for a couple of miles so we could see it as it rose above the mountains and into the black night sky.
I don’t know that much about the moon. I did touch a moon rock at the National Air and Space Museum last month when we were there visiting Washington, D.C. It seemed a lot like a rock. But way cooler because it was from the moon. I imagine, like that song from “Waiting for Guffman” about Mars, the moon could actually be pretty boring, if I were there.
However, yesterday, from my vantage point three million miles away here on earth, it was the most spectacular part of my day. It reminded me that the heavens are grand, that I am small, that God’s creation is vast, that beauty is nigh if I look for it.
In fact, sometimes all I have to do is look up.