I have this dream. It usually holds the most weight after I’ve watched movies set in Europe. The ones where the stubborn but beautiful girl goes to Europe for a spontaneous trip, and everything falls apart. Still, along the way she falls in love, with an extremely handsome Irishman or Italian dude, and even though she is covered in mud or has been dumped for the umpteenth time, it’s perfect.
In my dream, I also live in Europe. I work there and buy groceries there and have friends there and I just live. I don’t have worries that are so grand. Life just passes by and for once, it doesn’t really bother me. In my dream, life is just life and I live in the perpetual feeling of being a star. A star so big when it is up close but to the human staring up at it from lightyears away feels so small. A star radiating light for all to see yet is only impactful in a sea of other stars.
That’s what I want of my life. I want to be a star. On the race, I was a star for a little while. In-between the sweat and the squatty potties, in between the rain and the tears, in between the moments of annoyance so close to hate you can taste it and the moments of love you can barely contain. Those are the moments of being a star. The moments when you know you are insignificant but because you are a part of a large body, you matter more than you will ever know.
It happens when you are holding a baby in Ecuador. That baby will never know you by name. It won’t recognize you in pictures if there are any to show him. But that baby will always carry this feeling that it is loved, regardless of what happens in life to him, because you and countless others over the course of his infancy and toddlerhood all whispered in his ear while he was sleeping “You are loved. You are so, so, loved. You are important, and you are loved.”
It happens when you are handing out tents to refugees. That refugee probably doesn’t know your name and odds are you can’t pronounce his name or even his family’s name. He doesn’t know that you raised thousands of dollars to get up at the butt-crack of dawn to drink gross instant coffee, eat the world’s best orange, and give him and his family a tent. He doesn’t know that you will spend months and years and probably the rest of his life praying for him and crying for him. But he does know that because of you and those like you offered a smile and some help time after time after time, that there is goodness in the world. Maybe he’ll even learn that that goodness has a name and his name is Jesus Christ.
It happens when you say goodbye to the little girl from the tutoring center. That little girl doesn’t know that you cried after she left for the day. She doesn’t know that you treasure each mermaid and cat and bunny she drew you. She may not remember the lessons you taught her about math and science. But she will know that something is different about the tutoring center she when to as a child. She will know there was a light that emanated from that place and it will always be a place she can come home to.
The feeling of being a star is so special and so rare that many have told me that it’s not possible to find outside of the race. They say that my star friends and I are special and always will be, but we will all eventually fade. They say our light is not sustainable, we perhaps we should consider moving on from the star business.
Since being home my starlight has most definitely flickered. At times, it has turned off completely. My connection to the thing that makes stars’ burn has been tested. It has been a really hard transition—the transition from living my star-dream out in space, circling the globe to living it here back in the states. I don’t feel like a star most of the time. I don’t feel like my day to day life is a part of the grander story that makes an impact.
But on those days, I have try to remember that my own strength does not make stars burn. My dreams to circle the globe did not make my trip around planet earth happen. My future does not depend on what I plan for or what I don’t. My job did not and does not provide my identity and worth as a daughter of the star maker.
I am, and will always, be a star child.
Forever I will burn with the light of the Star Maker.
For his light is my light.
For I am his, and he is mine.
