Stars.

Sometimes, shooting stars feel a whole lot more like God saying, "I've got you," than they do meteoroids burning through the earth's atmosphere.

I wrote those words a year ago. Anderson Park. Holy ground. That park, that song, those stars, on those hot July nights, God met me. Continually, throughout the past twelve months I've been reminded of just how true that was and continued to be.

Sentimental to a fault and eager to remember how significant it was to me last year, I've been anxiously anticipating tonight's meteor shower. My heart dropped when I stepped outside there was anything but a clear view of the stars to great me. But only momentarily before I considered and decided it couldn't be more fitting.

Last summer, I NEEDED to hear God tell me He has got this. I needed to see it. I needed a tangible something to cling to. And in His gracious tenderness, He gave me three stars unmistakably telling me just that.

This summer, they're concealed behind clouds. And as I sit on the sidewalk, still hot on my skin from the heat of the day, and look up at the cloudy sky, I breathe easy.

Because I don't need to see. And when I do see, all I see is a gray foggy haze blocking my view of the stars. But the stars are there and shooting across the sky whether I see them clearly from where I am standing or not. I don't need to see, because I know. I know they are there. I know the promise is there. I know it's true. And I know He has got this.

I don't need to see, I know. Fitting. And once again, holy ground because He has met me here.