Tonight, the sky may be veiled in clouds. Thick, quiet, unmoving. And if you're like me, you might step outside hoping to catch a glimpse of Saturn beginning its retrograde motion, or Venus shimmering near Aldebaran in the constellation Taurus. But instead, you’re met with a blanket of gray.
It’s easy to feel disappointed when the heavens hide their wonders. We wait for the stars, the planets, the quiet beauty of the night sky to speak to us, and sometimes, they don’t show up. But here’s the truth I’ve been learning: just because we can’t see the light doesn’t mean it isn’t there.
Even if the sky is obscured tonight, here’s what’s unfolding above us:
Saturn begins its retrograde motion today, a slow celestial dance that reminds us that even the giants retrace their steps sometimes.
Venus glides near Aldebaran, the fiery eye of Taurus, nestled between the Hyades and Pleiades clusters—what ancient skywatchers called the “Golden Gate of the Ecliptic”.
Mars and Mercury linger low in the western twilight, their glow fading as they prepare for their own transitions later this month.
The Summer Triangle, Vega, Altair, and Deneb, rises high, a beacon of summer nights, even if hidden from view.
There are nights when the stars are hidden, and seasons when clarity feels distant. But faith is not about seeing, it’s about trusting. Trusting that the light is still shining behind the veil. Trusting that the heavens are still declaring glory, even when our eyes cannot behold it.
I think of the clouds not as barriers, but as invitations. Invitations to believe in what we cannot see. To rest in the assurance that the cosmos continues its rhythm, and that God’s presence is not diminished by our inability to perceive it.
Tonight, I’m reminded of Hebrews 11:1:
“Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”
Even when the sky is silent, the story continues. The planets move. The stars burn. The light remains.
So if you step outside tonight and find only clouds, let that be your sanctuary. Let the hidden sky remind you that faith is not fragile, it’s resilient. It holds fast when the view is obscured. It believes in the light, even when the night feels long.
And maybe, just maybe, the clouds are a gentle whisper:
"You don’t have to see it to know it’s there."
Until next time, keep looking up.
-g
Thank you for that perspective. I have a situation that has remained silent for 5 years. And though I trust that God's working even though I don't see him, your post gave confirmation of that.
All of this —-> “There are nights when the stars are hidden, and seasons when clarity feels distant. But faith is not about seeing, it’s about trusting. Trusting that the light is still shining behind the veil. Trusting that the heavens are still declaring glory, even when our eyes cannot behold it.
I think of the clouds not as barriers, but as invitations. Invitations to believe in what we cannot see. To rest in the assurance that the cosmos continues its rhythm, and that God’s presence is not diminished by our inability to perceive it.” 👏🏼👏🏼