There's just something magical and utterly relaxing about lying out on a blanket watching the stars. Of course, it was made so much better by the Perseids meteor shower that is currently at its peak.
But that sounds so scientific. Shooting stars, people! Brilliant bursts of light streaking across a velvety, diamond-studded night sky. You lie there continually realizing just how small you are; just how potentially unimportant your hopes, prayers, and dreams could be to the Creator Who found it good to fashion this sight.
And you worship.
And then there's the hilarity that could only be produced by these two over-tired Mennonite girls with the same name. Trying to find a place away from lights, trees, and noise to watch. Choosing a seemingly abandoned spot by the road, then realizing lying on the ground behind your car, mere feet from the edge of the road probably isn't a good idea (as evidenced by the panicked whisper aimed at the passing vehicle: "Please don't hit us, please don't hit us!") The completely simultanous gasped expression when a meteor is spotted: "Oh! Did you see that?" The car that seemed to have pulled into the entrance to the park where we were reclining, causing immediate jumping about and the frantic whisper: "Run!"
And we worship.
A cynical, sneering part of me murmured in my ear tonight: "It doesn't really do any good to wish on a falling star, you fool."
And the innocent, trusting part of me defiantly answered: "Yes, it does. It gives back the thrill of hope and expectancy that everyday life is so apt at wringing out of us. So there."
And we worship.
