Trying to comfort him, I drove the car around the parking lot, hoping to position us properly for another glimpse. However, even when I was sure he could see it, the roof of the car still blocked his view. In a tired, defeated whimper, he said, "Good night moon." In and out of sleep, he softly cried.

Throughout the drive home, I scanned outside all of our windows and stretched forward peering through the windshield, trying to spot the moon again for Shane to see. Even though it was a chilly November night, I even opened the sunroof for a couple of seconds, hoping to see the moon just above our heads. No luck. We simply couldn't see it from inside our car.

Once we arrived home, I pulled him from his car seat, and quietly pointed up toward the star-filled sky. He raised his sleepy head, opened his eyes wide and said, "Ah-w-w, there it is." "It never left, honey; we just couldn't see it. The moon's always there even though you might not be able to see it. Do you feel better?" "Yeah ..." he answered half-heartedly as he lowered his head to my shoulder.

We just couldn't see it.

There was a familiarity in the words I used to teach my son something new that night. There was a familiarity in Shane's despair when he thought the moon was gone. I realized this wasn't as much a teaching moment for Shane, as it was a teaching moment for me.

Christ, our light in the darkness, is always, always there. If I'm in the comfort of my home or in the uncertainty of a far-away land, He's there shining down on me. If a cloud of despair separates me from Him, He's right there awaiting its dissipation. Even when, through my self-proclaimed self-sufficiency, I interrupt His light and cause a total lunar eclipse, He still waits for me, patiently, in His steadfast position.

Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?

If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
      if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
      if I settle on the far side of the sea,
      even there your hand will guide me,
      your right hand will hold me fast. (Psalm 139:7-10)

The Dream Giver: Following Your God-Given Destiny by Bruce Wilkinson In this study of Exodus, Wilkinson exhorts Christians to leave our comfort zones, brave wilderness trials, confront "border bullies," and enter the "Promised Land" of God's will.

Kelly Breece lives in Hendersonville,Tn. with her husband, Michael, and their two children. She's worked in television production in Nashville for over 14 years. To read more articles like this, visit Our Morning Cup.

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