Late into a warm summer night, I lie on my back and gaze up at the sky; I’ve read a meteor shower is coming and I am determined to catch it. The grass prickles beneath me, cars whoosh and honk in the distance, neighbors’ voices float from open windows, but I don’t pay them much attention. I am anticipating something wondrous and my senses are alert and sharpened to only that. I am not only watching, I am expecting. The sky suddenly illuminates with arrows of flaming light exploding in all directions, shooting across the expanse and leaving a wake of unmistakable traces of light, which gradually fade and return into the darkness. Just like that, and the sky resumes its inky blackness. But I am left wide-eyed, seared with the dazzling evidence of a world beyond the realm of my understanding and control.

I can’t help but think God wants to speak to me more, teach me more, show me more about Himself. It’s like waiting for a meteor shower--expecting God in the unexpected, looking in the ordinary for the extraordinary. I want more encounters with the unseen world, more meteor showers, and I have to wonder why I’ve been content with less.

I’m not alone in this. It seems the cry of so many believers I know is that they want more authentic, life-changing encounters with a life-changing God! So why are we not experiencing this when we gather corporately, in our own prayer time, in our relationships? Maybe it has to do with our posture; with heads and hearts focused only "earthward", it’s easy to become overly distracted by the details of our complicated lives. How often have we gone entire days without taking a few moments to take a deep breath, gaze up in wonder and acknowledge the majesty of a blue sky, or a new blossom on a familiar plant, and to see in them God’s existence, His beauty?

I think we miss manifestations of God’s presence, too, because sometimes they come disguised as confusing, disorienting, or painfully dark circumstances. The death or terminal illness of a loved one. A broken heart. A huge financial loss. A sick child. In these things that make such little sense to us at the time, we’re more apt to cry out "God, where are you?" than watch for Him in the shadows of our anguish. It is here, too, that He comes, offering us beauty for ashes in the midst of seemingly dark despair. We discover hope, we are encouraged by a promise, see a new truth illuminated in our night. These too are meteor showers.

Let’s lie on our backs in the grass and search the sky for signs and hints of the world beyond. Watch for mountains to move, for waves to stand still. For wonders to be revealed. Our heavenly father delights in showing us His world; He will surprise us with explosions of light and life all around us.