Last night my roommate and I bundled ourselves in our warmest coats, scarves and hats. We packed a bottle of wine and the quilt off of the couch. We drove into the mountains, to a place where the trees clear to reveal a wide, smooth rock that looks out over the city and the foothills. It's called Bald Rock. I used to come up to this place often when I was in college. I knew it would be the perfect place to visit the moon. It was pretty much deserted when we arrived. We found a spot where the rock seemed to dip in, like a deep ladle. We spread out our blankets and settled underneath them to wait for the eclipse. I suggested we tell each other stories while we waited. Lindsay didn't get too far with the story she began, so I took over. When the end finally came, she paused for a moment and then said teasingly, "You read too many books, you know." :) I smiled and took it as a great compliment.
The rock had slowly filled with people by the time my story ended. There were groups, small and large gathered across the long cold stone. Some had built small fires and I could see the outline of their faces against the warm orange glow in the distance. Others were standing near the edge of the mountain where all that lighted in the darkness were the ends of a few lone cigarettes. Couples trailed off two by two. And still others sat in half circles laughing and huddling together for warmth. What began as a quiet murmur of voices was now a loud chorus of various conversations.
And then I heard the faint strumming of a guitar. It came from somewhere off to my right. The strumming became louder and the voices seemed to die away. And then a single, clear, beautiful voice sang out into the darkness. No one spoke as the guitar strummed and the girl sang. It was as if her song had temporarily put everyone into a
compulsory silence. I blinked as I looked up at the sky and then I was in another time, another place.
I was 19, and I was standing on the balcony of a dormitory at
Furman listening to a couple of guys talk about Jesus. We sang out praises to the Lord with the strumming of their guitars and we held nothing back in our songs. Then I was leaning against a tree, deep in the Colorado Rockies, where twenty minutes seemed like a lifetime, and a shooting star assured me that my prayers had been heard. Then it was Easter morning before the sun had risen. I was 21 that year and had no idea what the next steps for my life were. I sat on the great rock with my dear friend Beth waiting for dawn and the promise of new life and resolved to trust and follow even though I could not see exactly where the Lord was taking me. The rock then turned to grass, and it was late on a midsummer's night in a garden in southern Germany. I was laying on my back with Jenna, pointing out constellations, discussing life and marvelling at how we had landed ourselves half way across the world. Then I found myself in a candlelit room with 6 or 7 other precious women whose hands were laid on my head, arms, legs and back as they covered me with their prayers. Then the room disappeared and I was once again standing on this same Bald Rock, not quite one year ago, weeping as I held out my heart before the Lord, broken and bleeding.
I blinked. The end of the girl's song seemed to jolt me back into the present. I looked up at the moon and it was almost completely shadowed in deep bronze. Only a sliver of silver remained. As I took in the great expanse of sky above me I noticed that thousands and thousands of stars had appeared in the absence of the moon's glow. Hot tears stung my cold face and I felt the weight of God's bigness and vastness sweep over me. He met me there in those moments and whispered the evidence of his goodness and the fulfillment of His promises to me just as Jesus explained all of the law and the prophets to the disciples on the road to
Emmaus. And like them, my heart burned within me.
It is still winter here, where I live. But I can see and feel the first signs of spring as surely as the daffodil buds push their way through the cold ground in my yard.
