Last night I watched several satellites glide overhead, mysterious in their man-made-ness so far out there, like a star only made by us. One was so brilliant that I am sure it was the space station—humans riding our own made star. In the middle of the night, I awoke to the soft rumble of a tug, slowly the barge moved until it lay entirely across our windows with the tug quietly under running lights, its searchlight beam of white haloing it all. It silently went on its way, a night river train, my windows were once again dark. I lay there thinking of our space station star and this night train and me in my place and the adventure we had all shared and I went to sleep. I dreamed of the beginning of the second coming, the sky a rainbow, and then it began to shrink like ripples in a pond in reverse. It scared me. I woke up. Our longings for adventure, the things humans make, and ride like magic carpets of steel and solar sails will one day be like twiddly dees and navel lint when He returns to get us. It will be scary to begin with until we hear Him say, “Fear not, it’s just Me on My Magic Carpet coming to get you!” and the Adventure will finally begin.
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