Star of wonder

Stars are incredible things. No, not celebrities.  I’m talking about stars – those marvelous spheres of burning gases that have shined above us for eons long before Tinseltown’s Earth-bound notables even considered themselves, well, stars.

And they’re all a bit unsettling.  Scientists tell us of their origins, although even these smart guys aren’t always sure. We know they’re truly alive, ever expanding, volatile.  And yet stars seem stoic.  They shine down, silently shout their existence, but remain locked in position from year to year, decade to decade, century to century.

Dependable, comforting, they are. Why else would we set our lives to our own star’s schedule every day?

My son Zach got me a star. Last year, at Christmas.  Like George Bailey offering to rope in the moon for Mary in “It’s A Wonderful Life,” Zach threw a lasso up and, just like that, pulled down Pisces RA Oh 43m 19s D 21˚17.31”. 

He nailed a name on it, “Windsong,” after the Michigan cottage.

It’s in the Pisces constellation … two fish, connected, floating between Aquarius to the west and Aries to the east. So fitting for the cottage.

I won’t belabor the passing of Windsong.  Done that.  But Zach’s gift was pretty special.

Sure, he and I both recognize the gift for what it was … sold through an Illinois company that has no official sanction from the scientific community.  My star is registered officially as “Windsong,” but only with this company; astronomers around the world could care less.  Actually, that’s not true. They tend to get their undies in a bunch about the very idea.

But that’s just noise to me.  I think the guy who started the business was brilliant. Reminds me of the family in Kansas that will ship you tumbleweeds as gifts. A way to bring the Wild West home.

“If they don’t tumble, we don’t sell them!” is their motto.

That’s because we need our stars … to inspire us, to pry us from our TVs and computers at night and make us look out – and up. And then soak in the miracle of what we see. You become so small at moments like that, and yet your heart swells – “three sizes that day” – as you realize you’re part of a very special order.

‘Tis the season for stars, of course. The Star of Bethlehem takes center stage at this time of year. “O Star of wonder, star of night ….”  And while astronomers debate whether it was truly a star or a comet or a meteor or nothing at all – my, they can be grumpy! – the Christian world, at least, accepts this star for what it always will be … a symbol of hope, peace and joy.

Bless them.  Because that’s exactly what stars should be.

Said Dutch painter Vincent van Gogh: “For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.” 

So thank you, Zach.  Thank you for Pisces RA Oh 43m 19s D 21˚17.31”.

My Windsong.

And to those who read this, ‘tis the season … to venture out on a cold, clear night.  To find your star, throw your lasso up, haul it in. Nail a name on it. And fling it back.  It’s yours. 

And then each night, give it a kind wink of “hello!”

And dream.

Merry Christmas.