When We Can’t See the Light...
What do we do?
There are nights when the sky feels silent, not so much the surrounding noise of cars in the distance, motorcycles speeding, or that one guy who needs to get his muffler checked, or maybe they paid a lot of money to have it sound that way. The silence of the night sky can overpower all that noise for me. I love that it can do that.
It is not because the stars aren’t shining, but because I know there are sections in the night sky where I can’t see things, but I know something is there. Clouds may roll in, and light pollution can drown out the constellations, my telescopes fog from the night’s dew, and sometimes, even when the heavens are clear, my heart may not be. This is usually my wake-up call to adjust, change gear, and break old patterns that may be creeping their way in.
This image above I captured this week by pointing to a section of sky known as the Cygnus Wall, which is a region of the North America Nebula. It reminds me of those moments. It’s a place of intense star formation, where new suns are being born behind thick curtains of dust. To the naked eye, it’s basically impossible to see, maybe a faint smudge in the constellation Cygnus. But through careful observation and patient exposure, the hidden beauty emerges: glowing hydrogen gas, intricate dark lanes, and the quiet labor of creation. This one image is about 6 hours of exposure time over one night this weekend.
We only see it because someone believed it was there, someone trusted God put a painting in that part of the sky, and faith revealed it.
There’s a kind of faith in astrophotography. You point your lens toward darkness, trusting that light will come. You wait. You stack exposures. You refine. And slowly, the invisible becomes visible.
Isn’t that what faith is? It took me a long time to learning the meaning of faith, but when I did, it opened up a kind of new vision I didn’t have before.
Hebrews 11:1 says, “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”
The North America Nebula is a cosmic echo of that truth. It’s a reminder that just because we can’t see something doesn’t mean it isn’t real. Just because we feel lost doesn’t mean we aren’t being guided. Just because the light is hidden doesn’t mean it isn’t working.
The Cygnus Wall is full of dust, obscuring, absorbing, scattering. But it’s also full of glory. The same dust that hides the stars is the dust from which stars are made. The same chaos that clouds our vision is the cradle of new beginnings.
In our lives, we often walk through seasons of obscurity. We pray and hear silence. We hope and see no change. We search and find only shadows. But God is not absent in the dark. He is forming something new.
Isaiah 45:3 says, “I will give you the treasures of darkness and hidden riches of secret places, that you may know that I, the Lord, who call you by your name, am the God of Israel.”
There are treasures in the dark. Riches in the hidden places. And sometimes, the most profound revelations come not in clarity, but in mystery.
I believe that the night sky is more than a canvas; it’s a conversation. A way to listen. A way to remember. A way to trust.
This image of the North America Nebula isn’t just a photograph. It’s a parable. A visual whisper that says: “Keep looking. Keep trusting. The light is there, even when you can’t see it.”
So if you’re walking through a season of fog, of waiting, of wondering, know this:
You are not alone.
You are not forgotten.
You are not without light.
The stars are forming. The dust is dancing. And the Creator is near.
Until next time……keep looking up.
-g
