Seeing Stars

We lay on the ice in the middle of the lake, feeling the cold seep through our parkas, pants and long johns. Our younger brothers had headed back home and Kathy and I stayed behind, making angels in yesterday’s new snow.  The night was clear and quiet after the boys’ rowdy laughter trailed off around the corner. 

Quarton Lake was an old millpond a couple of blocks from our house and provided the setting for most of our childhood adventures.  The winter had transformed it into a crazy quilt of icy paths and one or two larger rectangles that were cleared for hockey and figure skating, which is what I called shuffling along on my ankles, trying not to fall down.

The night sky was full of stars and Kathy raised an ice-encrusted woolen mitten to point out the Big Dipper.  I pointed to Orion. My father had taught me to look for the three bright stars in a row that formed the hunter’s belt.  Orion has always been my favorite.  Then—because Dad had taught me something other kids didn’t know, and now—because it carries the memory of lying on that frozen pond on a cold Michigan night.

Sometimes I forget that the stars are always there.  During the day, the earth rolls beneath them, as it has for millions of years, yet when the sun is shining, we can only see what is immediately before us, blue sky, clouds, airplanes and birds.  It is much the same with the events in our lives.  When life throws us a curve, sometimes we only see the negative.  We fail to see beyond, to the gifts hidden behind the event, to the potential for something better.

Think of something upsetting in your life—it could be around a relationship, career, or something on the nightly news.  When you focus on what’s wrong, how do you feel? Now turn it around.  What new opportunities are possible? What has opened up for you? When you take away the bright intensity of the event and look beyond it, what are the stars that emerge?