Space hums. Never empty, but breathing. A steady inhale of nebulae, the exhale of God’s imagination.
Light travels for centuries but it began as a single word– spoken by God before clocks, before time bent to listen.
Every supernova echoes “Let there be,” a wound of light bleeds creation– heavens remember the cross, where beauty once broke to make us whole.
I watch the stars consume themselves in brilliance, born from heat, time, and pressure. Science calls it fusion, faith calls it fire– one names the process, the other, the Presence.
He holds both. Atoms that forged stars are the same that dwell in our body, and neither burn without Him.
He crafts distance– stretches between galaxies, silences between orbits, so perfectly that we long for Him.
He veiled heavens so we would seek, and when we looked far enough, He stepped closer– Word became flesh infinity folded into a single heartbeat.
So I stand under the sky a fragment of dust, a witness to light still traveling from Eden. And in the stillness, I whisper back into the vastness: You are here. You have always been here. Silence sings Your Name. Amen.