Under the Stars

A year ago I wrote about our Labor Day family camping experience. 19 people in all. And me, the patriarch of the family, still inexperienced, but enthusiastically willing.

Fast forward to 2024. Another Labor Day. Another family outing. Another remarkable Colorado location.

This time we pitched our tents in Oh Be Joyful campground, outside of Crested Butte, Colorado. Indeed, the surroundings were breathtaking and the adventure-inviting opportunities, nearly limitless.

For roughly 48 hours we were sojourners, guests, and stewards of the glimpses and grandeur of this place. On the second night of camping, at roughly 3am, the call of nature on my 69 year-old body demanded that I take a short hike outside of our tent. Once clear from the overhanging trees, I snagged a view of the Colorado sky. I was spellbound. As if I had just had a rear-end collision with creation, I stopped in my tracks. Speechless.

As I made my way back to the tiny bubble that I called home for the weekend, I thought to myself, “I love sleeping under the stars.”

I’ve used the quaint phrase “under the stars” before, but this time, as I slid myself back into my sleeping bag, I was confronted with a humbling and stark reality. Is there ever a day that I don’t sleep “under the stars”? Somehow, the simplicity and austerity of the crisp mountain air reminds me that I am small, dependent, humble and fragile. But once I drive 210 miles back to our home in Aurora, Colorado, I’m back in charge. In that environment, I seem to believe the stars aren’t as relevant.

Is it possible that a suburban address, asphalt shingles, a paved driveway, and a comfortable mattress are sufficient to lull me into a self-reliant stupor? Is God’s power and majesty absent when I’m back in my own kitchen, cooking something other than hot dogs and smores?

In the waning moments of nighttime in Oh Be Joyful, I was confronted with the stark reality that the awesome power and splendor of God does not diminish simply when I reenter the light and sound pollution of Aurora, Colorado. God is always God. And EVERY night I sleep under His stars.

            “Where shall I go from your Spirit?

                        Or where shall I flee from your presence?

            If I ascend to heaven, you are there!

                        If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there!

            If I take the wings of the morning

                        and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,

            even there your hand shall lead me,

                        and your right hand shall hold me.” (Psalm 139:7–10, ESV)

In Crested Butte and in Aurora.

Always small. Always His.