Stars

Stars. Pinholes in the thick, dark blanket that separates us from Paradise. Specks of shimmering light in the vast nothingness. Glimmers of hope that there’s more to look forward to than what this world offers.

Stars have always been significant to me. Some of my earliest memories are being bundled up in a thick warm blanket with my mama on our back porch swing in Colorado Springs, stargazing as we sang songs and talked about the greatness and goodness of God. A couple days ago I showed my husband my old house in Spring Hill, Kansas, and recalled the countless nights I spent laying by our pool, staring into the night sky and talking to God like He was my best friend. When I moved to Jakarta, I’d sometimes slip out the window of the orphanage at night to try to get a glimpse of any star I could find which would bring comfort to my soul. I looked up at the sky through the charred rooftop of what was Udur’s and my bedroom after that orphanage burned to the ground one month after it became my new home. During Covid, the darkest season of my life, I stayed up night after night kneeling by a little window in my prayer room on the third floor staring up at the night sky. There have been many times in my life where the stars in the sky seemed to be the only thing left to convince me that God had not abandoned me. They have become reminders of His character: of His steadiness, His faithfulness, His beauty, His power, His promises, and of His higher perspective.

But the problem with stars is you don’t always see them. They are often covered by clouds, drowned out by city lights, or forgotten beyond TV, tablet, laptop and phone screens. In other words, sometimes I can’t see the stars because of locations and situations beyond my control; other times it’s because I have chosen to be distracted. A couple years ago I was hospitalized for a stomach illness and there was no one who could stay with me because Udur had to watch the children. I sat alone in a high story of a hospital room aching and longing to have the comfort of the stars to look at through my window, but I couldn’t see one. I blamed all the city lights and complained to God for sending me to a big city. But then before I went to sleep I turned the TV off, put my phone down, and turned the lights off only to discover I could see more stars outside my window than I’d ever seen in all my years living in Jakarta. I learned a valuable lesson in that moment. It’s easy for me to blame circumstances around me for not feeling God’s presence, not hearing His voice, or receiving His guidance. “Where are you in this season?” I cry, only to realize my decisions were causing the disconnect. How many times in my life have I cried out to God thinking I’m waiting on Him, when really He was waiting on me.

“Jesus is in every particle of the universe… the whole world is filled with His glory! And we walk through it and we don’t see it. Not because He’s hiding, but because we’re hiding. We’re hiding our eyes from the glory imparted into our Father’s world.” -R.C. Sproul

Nevertheless, whether caused by my own distractedness or circumstances beyond my control, the fact remains that oftentimes stars are nowhere to be found. I can remove every possible distraction and seek them with all my might, and still not find a single one. Does that mean the stars have abandoned me? Have they changed? Have they dimmed? No. My favorite thing about stars is they are always there no matter where I am on planet earth. We say funny things like, “The stars are amazing here,” or, “there are no stars there.” When in reality the stars are the same everywhere, we just can’t always see them.

Abraham knew this only too well. God cleared the clouds away and gave Abraham the clearest look into the sky as any man ever had been granted: And he brought him outside and said, “Look to heaven, and number the stars, if you are able to number them.” Then he said to him, “So shall your offspring be.” (Gen. 15:5) Abraham had to hold onto that promise for 25 years, 9,125 nights, before he saw the beginning of that promise fulfilled. And after the promise was finally beginning to be fulfilled, God asks something of Abraham that made absolutely no sense at all: “Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains of which I shall tell you.” (Gen. 22:2)

I imagine there were many a cloudy night that blocked Abraham’s view of the stars on his journey to Moriah. Was God going back on His promise? Did He forget about His promise? Did He change? Was the promise all in his head to begin with? Talk about not understanding what God was doing! But Abraham trudged along in the dark, trusting God with all of his heart even though He didn’t understand. And once he passed the test and was on the other side of the crisis, the Lord assured Abraham that He was in control all along. He was there, He had not changed, He did not abandon, He did not forget his promises: “By myself I have sworn, declares the Lord, because you have done this and have not withheld your son, your only son, I will surely bless you, and I will surely multiply your offspring as the stars of heaven…” (Gen. 22:16-17)

John Paul and I are in a “cloudy”, “Mount Moriah” season right now. We have had a full year of miracle after miracle, love abounding, joy overflowing, God healing our hurts, molding our hearts, and promising good things if we obey Him and take the crazy leap of faith in getting married. We were so elated and excited to be a family and for the kids to experience what it’s like to have a mom and a dad that we didn’t even want a honeymoon. We didn’t want to leave the kids for even three days. And yet after our wedding John was sick in bed for two months and caring for him was my full-time job that left little time for the kids. We had to leave them for a week while John was hospitalized in Jakarta. And now we’ve been here in America 10,000 miles from them for nearly two weeks and still have no answers. Last night it’d been five days since he took that antibiotic that should’ve eradicated the infection in his gut, but he’s still experiencing much of the same symptoms. We finally decided to take John to the ER, and for the dozenth time I allowed myself to hope, thinking, “I’m not leaving this place until my husband is well and/or we have answers!” They ran several more tests, including a C.T. Scan, found nothing, and sent us home. Again.

He is now scheduled for a colonoscopy on Tuesday and we are getting in touch with an infectious disease specialist. It seems we are in this for the long haul, and I have never been more frustrated and confused in my life. I love my God and I trust Him with all my heart, but I certainly don’t understand Him sometimes. The sky is dark and cloudy and there’s not a star in sight, but all we can do is hold onto the knowledge that they are still there shining brightly as ever even though we don’t see them right now.

“Faith never knows where it is being led, but it loves and knows the One who is leading.” -Oswald Chambers

I say all this not just to ask for prayer for John, but because I know we’re not the only ones who feel this way right now. I’m sure many of you reading this are going through much more difficult and confusing circumstances in your life. I could quote a bunch of Scriptures and preach a sermon right now, but there is value in honest wrestling as opposed to phony spirituality. And honestly, sometimes knowing the character and attributes of God only make you more angry at Him. He is the God who sees. He’s seen it all, everything we’re going through to the last detail. So why doesn’t He do something about it? He is the Great Physician, Elrapha, our Healer. So why won’t He heal my husband? I don’t know. But what I do know is I looked up at the stars tonight and was reassured of Who He is, despite the fact I don’t understand what He’s doing. And it made me long to be up there with Him more than I have in a long time. Maybe that’s the point of these seasons, to make us look up and remember that everything in this world will fall short of expectations and bitterly disappoint, but the Kingdom of Heaven will not. Now we see only small glimpses, but one day those “pinholes” in the sky will tear wide open and there will be no more darkness, no more clouds, no more distractions, no more sickness, no more disappointment, no more confusion.

And I saw no temple in the city, for the temple is the Lord God the Almighty and the Lamb. And the city has no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God gives it light, and its lamp is the Lamb. By its light will the nations walk, and the kings of the earth will bring their glory into it, and its gates will never be shut by day—and there will be no night there. (Rev. 21:22-25)

“I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end… I am the root and the descendant of David, the bright morning Star… Surely I am coming soon.”

Amen. Come Lord Jesus! (Rev. 22:13, 16, 20)

Please keep the prayers coming for John Paul and for his family and I who are wallowing in frustration and confusion. If you’re going through a similar season, look up with me, beloved, to the God of the Stars and remember all we have to look forward to on the other side of this. Thank you for continued prayers and words of encouragement. I’ll keep you posted on John Paul’s progress and the rest of our time in America.

God bless and much love,

Amanda