Stars

Genesis 15:5

“And he brought him forth abroad, and said, Look now toward heaven, and tell the stars, if thou be able to number them: and he said unto him, So shall thy seed be.”

The Lord took Abraham into the dark to show him the stars.

And I can’t shake that thought. He didn’t lead him into the safety of sunlight, where everything was clear and seen. He led him into the shadows, into the velvet cloak of night, where sight was dim and the unknown pressed close. It was there—when the world grew quiet and vision was limited—that God unveiled the uncountable heavens.

It pierces me: sometimes the very place I call darkness is the only canvas wide enough for Him to display His promise. Abraham couldn’t have seen the multitude in the daylight—it had to be night. It had to be lonely, hushed, and hidden. The ache of waiting, the sting of barrenness, the hollow places of disappointment—they became the backdrop for glory too vast to number.

And isn’t that just like Him? To lead me into the dark not to forsake me, but to stretch my gaze upward. To lift my trembling chin until my eyes catch the brilliance I couldn’t have seen anywhere else. I cry out for morning, but He whispers, “Look up. It’s here, in this midnight place, that I will show you My stars.”

What if the darkness I dread is actually the place of revelation? What if my confusion, my waiting, my unanswered questions, are the soil in which He is planting promises too big for daylight to contain?

Let me not waste the night with fear. Let me dare to believe that in the very season I want to escape, You are inviting me to behold the uncountable, immeasurable, unstoppable faithfulness of Your covenant. You are the same God who breathed galaxies for Abraham’s weary eyes—and You are my God still.

So I will not despise the dark. For it is here, in this tender, terrifying shadow, that You are showing me my stars.