Although the details have long ago disappeared in the mist of time, I clearly remember a very large painting hanging in a museum in Europe.
Against a dark blue and star filled sky was a youthful lady with long and beautiful hair. She was wearing a flowing gown. Her right arm was outstretched with fingers ready to pluck one of the stars from the sky while her left hand gripped a wicker basket that already contained two of them.
I could only wonder what caused the artist to create such an image. That’s when I added my imagination to the artist’s and concluded that throughout life all of us should always be searching with the hope of finding and gathering.
At first, her eyes are forward, eager to explore, discover, and learn. The feelings are so intense that not until after the search is well underway does she pause to look backward to see what is in the basket — concerned if there are only one or two stars there, satisfied if there are three or four, delighted if there are more than that.
The number, however, doesn’t matter. That’s because after each time, her eyes are again looking forward, her hand ready and waiting, her brain hoping. The excitement of touching then gathering even more of them continues.
Eventually, the journey ends, and with it, the search. That’s when one realizes the figure standing there represents you, waiting for what comes next, an interval of time during which the reality that was there is about to be replaced by whatever your faith promised.
All of this is so unbelievable that we are strongly tempted to think of it as being a fantasy tacked onto the ending of a physical version of what an artist imagined. Instead, we tighten our mental grip so as to see it for what it is — an image with considerable meaning as to how we will be redeemed for both our earthly efforts and our heavenly faith.
Now, a double-sided question emerges: How long has it been since you last counted the stars in your basket and how many were in there?
With that, another picture takes shape in your mind. You are in your early twenties, so busy looking forward and reaching that you never think to look in your basket, don’t even have enough presence of mind to ask others how they managed to find so many stars or, and looking at the other extreme, why there are so few.
That image fades, replaced by another one showing you again checking your basket, except this time, you are in your early sixties. You either feel panic because there are so few or you are deeply satisfied to see more than you expected. Either way, you are either able to comfort yourself by realizing you still have time to find and reach for more stars or you are delighted to know you might be able to add still more to what has already become an impressive number.
Eventually, it does end and you are faced with either having to regretfully accept the few stars you found, or congratulating yourself for having found so many, then taking even more time to slowly think through the experience.
As fanciful as that might sound, it reveals a few thoughts over which all of us might do well to ponder.
Specifically, those just beginning the search are so intent in looking forward that they either don’t hear or don’t bother to listen to what is being said by those who are well underway in their journey through life.
In similar fashion, many who are long into their search are reluctant to continue either because they fear they will fail or that they will succeed so well they could easily conclude that surely their good fortune can’t possibly continue.
Finally, there are those who from the beginning, acknowledge the existence and whole of everything. They take flight in that star-studded sky, reach as far forward as they can, and with pleasure bordering on reverence, gently and carefully place into their basket each star they find.
That alone is admirable, but what makes them exceptional is that when they were young, they took time to ask, and as they become older, they take time to answer.
And when their mortal journey ends, all will be well.
