I am a city-dweller. Sometimes I forget this. There is a place deep inside me that still thinks of myself as a small-town, rural gal. But I have lived among concrete and high rises for longer than I walked streets without sidewalks, for longer than I drove on unsaved roads that kicked up dust in my wake. Mostly, I have a comfort level in the city though I know that it is the experience of the gifts of wider, wilder spaces that feeds my soul. It is to these places that I am drawn when my heart hurts, when my spirit lags, when I need grounding in the wisdom of what is truly important. Everyone is different in this spiritual longing but this is my truth.

This past week while driving across Montana in late afternoon, I had the unique experience of being suspended between the setting sun and the almost full moon. The moon’s brilliant whiteness was pulling us forward toward home while through the rearview mirror I could see the sun slowly painting its final light on the horizon behind me. A rich red and russet orange swirled around the purple mountains silhouetted in the western sky. Frankly, it was almost too much to take in. I felt like my focus was in a tug-o-war with the very Universe. Where to look? How to breath it all in? How to honor the beauty and the gift of it?

I thought of the psalmists and their ability to give words to such feeling, such experiences. Rather than sitting with their mouths hanging open, they gave speech to the awe:

Praise God!
Praise the God from the heavens;
praise God in the heights!
Praise God, all angels!
Praise God, sun and moon;
praise God, all you shining stars!
Praise God, you highest heavens,
and you waters above the heavens!
Let them praise the name of God,
for the Holy One commanded and they were created.
They were established forever and ever;
And were fixed in their bounds, which cannot be passed.

Of course, I wanted to say something eloquent like this but I couldn’t. The words just didn’t come. I just kept scanning the horizon, behind and before me, trying to move my head in owl-like fashion. Spin, look. Spin, look. Knowing that I was in the presence of something extraordinary that happens every day, I was filled with a sense of comfort in being a part of it all. The sun would set and rise again. The moon would rise and set again. And this human’s only role was to be present, observe and be dumbfounded.

The truth is that we are suspended every day between these risings and settings. As city-dwellers we seldom are aware. But in the big skies of the west that balancing act is an every day occurrence. My prayer is that those who live there and view it daily never take it for granted. Perhaps they are better psalmists than I. Perhaps they are shouting their praises with wild abandon. At the red sunsets and billowing clouds. At the saucer moon and brilliant stars. All visible. All the time.