By the time Monday morning rolled around, the media hype leading up to the 2017 solar eclipse had reached a fever pitch. Schools cancelled classes; enthusiasts drove hours to camp out in the path of totality; shrewd opportunists sold viewing glasses for upwards of $10/pair. Our country stopped squabbling for a few moments and collectively turned our eyes to the heavens. Then, in just a matter of moments, it was over. The eclipse had come and gone like two celestial orbs passing each other in the daytime sky.
I’m the kind of person who tends to find meaning in small things. Any observable moment can be an opportunity to be reminded of some greater truth. Seeing my son take careful, deliberate steps along a wooden beam reminds me that faith is a step-by-step journey of trust; seeing my daughter learn to walk her dog responsibly reminds me that discipline is often a prerequisite for enjoyment; and seeing other parents enter the daycare on a Monday morning with diaper bags and blankets in-hand reminds me that I left our bag sitting on the dining room table.
Big moments, then - moments like when the view of the sun is perfectly blocked out by the moon in its orbit - are certainly worthy of further contemplation. Witnessing the solar eclipse Monday afternoon was magnificent. It was such a joy to sit with my two older kids and watch as the sun turned into little more than a sliver before once again reclaiming its glory among the heavens.
I'm no scientist, but here is what I do know about the sun: you can't look at the sun.