The Night the Northern Lights Came South

No one expected them.

Not here—not this far south.

They drifted down from the Arctic skies as if the heavens forgot their borders,

painting our ordinary world in colors we’d only seen in our dreams and wished for on our bucket lists.

There was no warning, no schedule, no forecast that could have prepared us.

They arrived uninvited, unexpected—a blessing in motion, shimmering across our normal Tuesday night like a miracle too beautiful to last.

And then, just as suddenly as they came, they disappeared.

We stood there—stunned, grateful, but not ready for them to leave......wanting more.

The next night we looked again, scanning the same horizon, believing beauty might return on our command.

But the sky was quiet. The dark was just dark.

The lights had moved on, as all moments of wonder eventually do.

That’s the thing about awe: it doesn’t wait for our convenience.

You can’t order it up or save it for later.

You can’t rewind what was meant to be fleeting.

You can only be present enough to see it—to feel it run through you like electricity and leave you changed.

When the Northern Lights came to Colorado, I was quietly asking the universe

to show me something—a sign, a spark, a direction toward my true creative self again.

When we ask the Great Creator for a sign—sometimes we get a glimpse into the vast imagination of the divine.

We must expect the unexpected, for wonder rarely arrives in the form we pictured; it slips in sideways, disguised as surprise, lighting the sky of our ordinary lives when we least expect it.

God shared his thoughts through vibrant colors from another world,

galactic dust whispering across our sky, reminding me that beauty often visits

when you’ve finally stopped chasing it.

That single glimpse was enough.

Enough to wake something deep and sacred in my soul—the part that remembers to look up, to stay open, to trust the timing of mystery.

Because sometimes, we are granted only one trembling glimpse of wonder...

no replays,

no guarantees,

only the hush of the eternal asking us to look, to breathe, to be.

And in that fleeting shimmer of light,

we remember who we really are in the great turning of the cosmos—

souls stitched from starlight,

alive within God’s boundless kingdom,

grateful that for one brief, holy moment,

the veil lifted—and we saw.