The moon hung suspended on strings from God’s hands. I saw it there, above the trees just to the north, and walked out to greet it. God tugged it upwards, directing it higher and higher into the night sky. The stars came out to watch the show with me, the great marionettist entertaining us all.
“Direct me across the sky of my life, God,” I prayed.
A bird in the oak tree sang her last song before sleep; her voice filling my heart with peace, and I realized God was pulling me along by my heartstrings. I smiled up at the moon, we are in good hands, I thought.