It is 3:45 am and I step out of my warm room to a night sky filled with stars. As I turn on my lantern, I see that some of the stars are falling from the sky, bright spots of cold snow. I pass by the Jesus statue and notice that his arms and face are catching the snow, a contrast of black and white. The cold takes my breath away, or is it the sky full of stars, pulling me back to my childhood when we would stop in the desert and look at the stars on our cross-country road trips. I step forward, keeping my eyes reluctantly on the snowy ground in front of me. I wade through the deep gravel, stopping every few feet to catch my breath and stare upwards, mouth open. I catch snowflakes on my tongue. It is snowing in the desert!
A bell rings out, tolling urgently the hour. I increase my speed, hiking up the last steep hill to the adobe church which sits, backlit by the stars in the gray sky, surrounded by the black bulk of cliffs. I pause one last time to contemplate the stars. All my friends are there: Orion with his belt and sword, Cassiopeia, the Pleiades, and just touching the top of one cliff, the Big Dipper. As I stare I see the stars winking and sparkling, and I see at least one planet, brighter, bigger, and just different. The bell rings again and I enter the church, there to take part in a ritual that is over 1000 years old, chanting psalms and praises to the God who named each and every star.
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