but it sure makes everything in life seem so much better. How is it when your hockey team wins, you notice the brilliant stars in the sky in spite of the street light; you notice the unusual whirring of the Canada Goose wings overhead inspite of the rumble of Deerfoot Trail traffic. You hear the honking of the geese and liken it to clowns wildly squeezing their bicycle horns. Do geese honk because of the traffic jam? Are they all vying for the front position? Don't they know that's the hardest one? Or are they complaining that it's their turn, while the leader is complaining that "You've no idea how hard I'm working to make your trip comfortable."
My now 13-year-old wants to know why the geese in Calgary aren't flying south. They seem to go every direction but.
I want to know why the stars tonight seemed to be drawing the lines themselves to connect the dots within their constellations and wish that I had paid more attention to that curriculum unit in school because - well, I've always been bad with names, especially constellations.
Why do we always know the names of Stars but don't know the names of stars and constellations?
Is it that because my team won tonight that I was looking up? Is it that I look down when we don't win? Does a victory take the current burden off the shoulders of my soul just long enough for me to raise my head and see the beauty of creation that is always there?
Dear God, help me also to see the beauty through the clarity of tears. The other team knew defeat tonight. The mothers of those boys may very well have not seen the stars tonight and missed out on all your glory. Thank you for the stars and thank you for the tears. May I always be grateful for both.