I love ice cream and I always have - pretty much any flavor - as long as it contains some form of chocolate. As a size "husky" youngster, my proclivity to eat Rocky Road was evident to all. It was this affinity that made the prospect of having my tonsils and adenoids removed a more than acceptable risk. You see, my family told me weeks before that the procedure would not only stop my persistent sore throat, but that that the recovery plan included the hospital feeding me unlimited ice cream.
And so there I was, six years old, lying in a hospital bed with my tonsils freshly removed. It was terrible. But, as I lingered in pain, I took comfort in the knowledge that I would soon be rewarded. I awaited with great anticipation. I sat up excitedly as the nurse walked into my room with a covered tray in her hands. I imagined a mountain of frozen dairy delights hiding underneath. My mouth watered as she smiled and slowly lifted the lid ... revealing … Jello … lemon Jello.
"I'm sorry honey, this hospital doesn't serve ice-cream for tonsillectomies," my mother said, "Dairy products cause mucus formation and vomiting. And that could tear the stitches in your throat."
I began to cry inconsolably.
My father, realizing my deep disappointment left the room and went out in search of a present he could give me to lessen the blow. He returned a few hours later and presented me with a long, narrow box.
"A milkshake machine?" I thought, "Nope. Too long and too thin."
I opened it and was puzzled; there were pictures of planets, moons, and stars on the box. And then I realized - it was a telescope! How wonderful and unexpected! My father and I set it up right then and there and we began looking out my window into the rooms of other patients in the hospital. It was great fun.
When I returned home I used my telescope incessantly. I looked at objects near and far during the day. I used it as a microscope to look at ants. I used its cross-hair viewfinder to play Army Ranger. But nights were the best. At night, I would put on my coat, go outside, and gaze for hours at the thousands of luminous objects that adorned the winter skies of Southwest Michigan.
I started looking at the moon at first because it was easy to locate. I later identified the planets, Venus and Mars. But the stars were my favorite. So beautiful. So powerful. I began to study and learn about stars. I learned that stars have a life-span and that our own Sun would someday die. I learned that stars generate the elements that build our Universe and that there are many sizes and types of stars: red and blue giants, yellow and white dwarfs, pulsars, … neutron stars. I was awed and captivated by it all.
That day in the hospital, I found myself very disappointed because I didn't get what I had been expecting. But God had better things in mind for me. He took that moment of disappointment and used it to give me something different, something more than I could have anticipated, something better.
Emerson wrote:
“If the stars should appear one night in a thousand years, how would men believe and adore; and preserve for many generations the remembrance of the city of God which had been shown! But every night come out these envoys of beauty, and light the universe with their admonishing smile.”
I will never lose my sense of wonder nor my fascination with stars. And yes, every night they will be there for us. Every single night.
