I was out running at 05:45 this morning and was pleased to find dry conditions after a couple of soakings earlier in the week. Chilly, but dry. In fact as I left the street lit village I looked upwards to discover there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, my path illuminated by the harvest moon and a blanket of stars. I was surrounded by total silence as I plodded to the halfway point and prepared to turn for the homeward journey.
This started with a climb back up into the village. High above, front and centre, was a star I hadn’t noticed on the first leg of my run. In fact, with my incredibly limited astronomy, I’m fairly certain it was a planet. Venus, if I’m not mistaken, but feel free to correct me if I’m wrong. It looked as if it was hovering high above my house in case I took a wrong turn or stumbled into the ditch and needed rescuing.
I was somewhat awestruck by this sight which made the effort of crawling out from under the covers all the more worthwhile. I immediately thought back to the Wise Men who were guided by a similar bright light in the sky, millennia ago and halfway across the world. It guided them away from their homes though, towards a little stable in Bethlehem. To their spiritual home where a child was born who would change the world forever.
I didn’t set out to write a spiritual post today. I have a faith, but am no fan of organised religion or the political and moral stance taken by many churches. Many Christians I have encountered on my personal journey have appalled me with their arrogance and hypocrisy. I know I’m not a wise man, I’m far from it. But it’s comforting to cling to the belief that I’m being guided by a higher power who looks down upon me, through the good times and the bad.