The other day I was miles away from home and missing my family.  Then I looked up at the night sky and started counting.

The Girl counts stars every time she’s outside at night.  I never begrudge her her counting; however, I never join in, either.  But the other night I counted.

I spotted Orion; it’s the only constellation I can readily discern.  His belt is always a dead giveaway, and then I inch up and see his broad shoulders, so the first 5 stars were easy.  I think I eventually saw the rest of The Hunter’s posturing, but I couldn’t identify it as such.  Past his belt and shoulders, my constellation knowledge disappears, and they all just look like stars to me.

Once my eyes adjusted to the odd mixture of darkness and street lamp light, it was like stars began popping out of the sky.

I stared up and craned my neck and eventually counted 41 stars.  The longer I stared, the more stars I saw.  The brighter ones were like lights punching their way through indigo fabric, and the dimmer ones slowly manifested like mirages on the horizon.

I was awed by God’s handiwork, and I prayed that The Girl was in our backyard just then, looking up at the same sky and feeling humbled by God’s magnificence.

I understand now why The Girl counts stars – because it’s amazing.

I didn’t ask her if she had been counting stars that night.  I think I’m much better off living with my version of the encounter.  Sometimes reality can be so disappointing.

Next time she’s gazing up, however, I will stand next to her and count.