I've been reading about the total solar eclipse for weeks.
How many things we've learned
about the sun, the moon, our own planet,
the laws of physics, and our universe
through observation of these events we are witness to by 'cosmic coincidence'.
I told my husband weeks ago I wanted to see it.
With no reservations,
and fully booked accommodations, it seemed impossible.
(I've told you I have six kids?)
We both researched, and tried to brainstorm how to do it.
The closer we got, and the more I read, the more I longed to see it.
We would have to drive into the eclipse path
in either Oregon or Idaho to view it,
and the predictions of traffic sounded nightmarish.
We looked over maps of eastern Oregon,
looking for the more remote locations to see it from.
I hadn't had the money to pick up the eclipse glasses
I first saw in the grocery store,
but thought I could wait a week or so until he was paid.
Like many people, when I went back for them, they were gone.
I scoured stores in town for three days, and there were none.
I checked Amazon.
Sold out.
Couldn't ship in time.
We started praying.
And I found a paper listing local sources for them I'd had for a week or two,
but not read through.
I began calling the places on the list I hadn't already checked (which wasn't many).
And the third one in, I got a half positive:
"I think there's still a box on the counter..."
I called my husband and asked him to race over there and see if they did.
A few minutes later, he told me he was the proud owner of their last six pairs.
This development encouraged us to make every effort to get down to see it.
Our kids were all sick leading up to it.
Saturday, another one began to vomit.
But knowing we may never get another chance,
I continued to gather what we might need.
I studied our van, and decided to attempt sleeping Sunday night in it.
All the kids were still sickish, but nobody had thrown up on Sunday.
We weren't able to leave town until after 8 pm Sunday night.
Less than one hour into the trip,
the kid who had been sick on Saturday started throwing up again.
Our hopes of getting there by a little after midnight
slipped further and further away
as we stopped at gas station after gas station
to use the facilities and clean out our bucket.
But we kept finding what we needed when we needed it,
and I bought a high priced bottle of 409 to disinfect with.
The three year old wet through her clothing, and we took care of that mess.
We had a general area in mind to watch from,
but it was pitch black (with stunning starscapes and falling stars!),
and without light, it was hard to tell if we'd be able to see it.
My husband had seen a promising looking truck stop on a map
that we thought we might be able to park in and sleep.
We finally got there around 2 am, but it was coned off,
and we didn't know what to do.
I didn't want to view it from a paved parking lot, anyway.
After sleeping very little, I felt the kids would need grass and trees,
and shade in the desert sun.
There was a state park next door,
but we had figured it would be crawling with people
since they had camping facilities there.
We thought we'd go see if we could use the bathroom, anyway,
since we had counted on being able to use the truck stop bathrooms.
The road before and after the state park entrance was lined with cars waiting to get in.
The entrance was blocked with cones, too,
but there were state workers sitting there.
We pulled up close, and asked if we could use the bathrooms.
The park ranger said, "Well, the park is closed for day use."
It seemed final, but she looked at us, at our van, and said,
"Did you just pull off the highway?"
"Yeah... we thought we could use the facilities at the truck stop, but it's all closed up."
She nodded,
and then she told us she was going to let us in for ten minutes to use the bathrooms,
but we had to go back out since the park wasn't open until 3 am.
So we were able to brush our teeth, change the babies, and use the facilities.
Another mercy.
As we pulled out, and thanked the rangers,
my husband asked if this was the line to get in,
indicating all the cars parked on the shoulders.
"Well, we can't tell you you can park there," they said,
"but at 3, you can come park inside the parking lot."
So we parked our van directly across the street, behind someone's truck.
We removed the carseats, unrolled the sleeping bags,
padded the floor for the baby, clipped sheets up over the windows,
and got everybody into their assigned sleeping quarters.
My husband and my oldest son in the front seats, reclined.
I laid a sheepskin over two bins to make a bed for the three year old.
The two middles each took a bench seat.
The baby slept on the floor between the two men.
And I slept on sleeping bags with my oldest daughter.
About fifteen minutes after we settled them all in,
Jeff pulled into a parking place in the park
(the second vehicle admitted for the day),
and we attempted to sleep a few hours before it got really loud.
The babies were wired, and had trouble resting,
so I was surprised when I woke up to find that any of us had slept at all.
The milling about our van by people coming into the park picked up a lot around 5 am.
In the daylight, our situation was clearer.
About 20 feet from our parking place, there was a beautiful, grassy,
tree-shaded place to set up with a perfect view of the sky
that (by cosmic coincidence) was next to the one man in the park
with thousands of dollars in telescopic equipment and cameras aimed at the sky.
We set up a tent with no windows facing the sun,
threw sleeping bags and pillows, and toys and books and drawing materials into it,
and fired up the new camp stove to make coffee and oatmeal.
Amos ate two bowls, and kept walking back, holding out his bowl,
and asking, "More, please? More?"
My introverted daughter Elisa brought a book into the tent, and read,
coming out to look at the sun off and on until about fifteen minutes before totality,
when she stayed out.
Jeff took the little ones down to walk by the river for a little while,
and Isaiah and I went over to speak with the telescope man for a few minutes.
He offered a peek into the telescope, and we jumped at the chance.
As the eclipse began, a quietness came over the park.
There had been a constant line at the bathrooms all morning,
and we had heard they closed the park to new arrivals when they hit 1000 people.
Even though there were many people there, it did not feel crowded.
They were spread out over the grounds, and many were down at the boat-launch.
The quiet, though, was unusual for the amount of people there.
Especially since it lasted from just after 9 am until totality.
The park was full of owls, and their hooting was lovely.
There were a few possibly tipsy people around, but it wasn't a party scene.
A man a couple hundred yards away had a guitar,
and broke out into song periodically.
Just before totality, I heard him singing You Are My Sunshine to the sun.
As the shadow fell, some birds all went wherever it is they go,
and the owls, I noticed, got quiet.
I had asked my husband to videotape from just before totality,
and I'm glad I did,
because the hushed dimness that we had been in
erupted into cheers and shouts, and gasps of astonishment.
"Oh, WOW!" and other expressions of awe seemed to come from everywhere.
And rightly so.
The guitar man was praying out loud in another language.
Everything he'd sung all morning had been tinged with humor,
but I think the prayer was sincere.
Babies started crying in fear of the dark (although mine didn't).
Afterward, I told family, "That was the most glorious thing I've ever seen.
The sun's corona is so beautiful.
I've never seen anything so beautiful in my life."
And here's the thing: that beauty is always there.
The sun's corona is always blazing out its glory.
But we can only see it on these rare occasions
when the sun itself is veiled for a moment,
and our frail eyes are able to look up at what otherwise blinds and maims us.
Revelation 1:16 says of the Lord Jesus Christ:
"His countenance was like the sun shining in its strength."
In Exodus 33 the Lord says, "No man shall see Me and live".
But in John 14, Jesus says, "He who has seen Me has seen the Father."
He took on flesh, and veiled Himself in it,
giving us the chance to take a really good look at Him.
Praise the Lord!
Praise Him from the heavens;
praise Him in the heights!
Praise Him, all His angels;
praise Him, all His hosts!
Praise Him, sun and moon;
praise Him, all you stars of light!
Praise Him, you heavens of heavens!
Let them praise the name of the Lord,
for He commanded and they were created.
He also established them forever and ever;
He made a decree which shall not pass away...
Let them praise the name of the Lord,
for His name alone is exalted;
His glory is above earth and heaven.
(from Psalm 148)
How many things we've learned
about the sun, the moon, our own planet,
the laws of physics, and our universe
through observation of these events we are witness to by 'cosmic coincidence'.
I told my husband weeks ago I wanted to see it.
With no reservations,
and fully booked accommodations, it seemed impossible.
(I've told you I have six kids?)
We both researched, and tried to brainstorm how to do it.
The closer we got, and the more I read, the more I longed to see it.
We would have to drive into the eclipse path
in either Oregon or Idaho to view it,
and the predictions of traffic sounded nightmarish.
We looked over maps of eastern Oregon,
looking for the more remote locations to see it from.
I hadn't had the money to pick up the eclipse glasses
I first saw in the grocery store,
but thought I could wait a week or so until he was paid.
Like many people, when I went back for them, they were gone.
I scoured stores in town for three days, and there were none.
I checked Amazon.
Sold out.
Couldn't ship in time.
We started praying.
And I found a paper listing local sources for them I'd had for a week or two,
but not read through.
I began calling the places on the list I hadn't already checked (which wasn't many).
And the third one in, I got a half positive:
"I think there's still a box on the counter..."
I called my husband and asked him to race over there and see if they did.
A few minutes later, he told me he was the proud owner of their last six pairs.
This development encouraged us to make every effort to get down to see it.
Our kids were all sick leading up to it.
Saturday, another one began to vomit.
But knowing we may never get another chance,
I continued to gather what we might need.
I studied our van, and decided to attempt sleeping Sunday night in it.
All the kids were still sickish, but nobody had thrown up on Sunday.
We weren't able to leave town until after 8 pm Sunday night.
Less than one hour into the trip,
the kid who had been sick on Saturday started throwing up again.
Our hopes of getting there by a little after midnight
slipped further and further away
as we stopped at gas station after gas station
to use the facilities and clean out our bucket.
But we kept finding what we needed when we needed it,
and I bought a high priced bottle of 409 to disinfect with.
The three year old wet through her clothing, and we took care of that mess.
We had a general area in mind to watch from,
but it was pitch black (with stunning starscapes and falling stars!),
and without light, it was hard to tell if we'd be able to see it.
My husband had seen a promising looking truck stop on a map
that we thought we might be able to park in and sleep.
We finally got there around 2 am, but it was coned off,
and we didn't know what to do.
I didn't want to view it from a paved parking lot, anyway.
After sleeping very little, I felt the kids would need grass and trees,
and shade in the desert sun.
There was a state park next door,
but we had figured it would be crawling with people
since they had camping facilities there.
We thought we'd go see if we could use the bathroom, anyway,
since we had counted on being able to use the truck stop bathrooms.
The road before and after the state park entrance was lined with cars waiting to get in.
The entrance was blocked with cones, too,
but there were state workers sitting there.
We pulled up close, and asked if we could use the bathrooms.
The park ranger said, "Well, the park is closed for day use."
It seemed final, but she looked at us, at our van, and said,
"Did you just pull off the highway?"
"Yeah... we thought we could use the facilities at the truck stop, but it's all closed up."
She nodded,
and then she told us she was going to let us in for ten minutes to use the bathrooms,
but we had to go back out since the park wasn't open until 3 am.
So we were able to brush our teeth, change the babies, and use the facilities.
Another mercy.
As we pulled out, and thanked the rangers,
my husband asked if this was the line to get in,
indicating all the cars parked on the shoulders.
"Well, we can't tell you you can park there," they said,
"but at 3, you can come park inside the parking lot."
So we parked our van directly across the street, behind someone's truck.
We removed the carseats, unrolled the sleeping bags,
padded the floor for the baby, clipped sheets up over the windows,
and got everybody into their assigned sleeping quarters.
My husband and my oldest son in the front seats, reclined.
I laid a sheepskin over two bins to make a bed for the three year old.
The two middles each took a bench seat.
The baby slept on the floor between the two men.
And I slept on sleeping bags with my oldest daughter.
About fifteen minutes after we settled them all in,
Jeff pulled into a parking place in the park
(the second vehicle admitted for the day),
and we attempted to sleep a few hours before it got really loud.
The babies were wired, and had trouble resting,
so I was surprised when I woke up to find that any of us had slept at all.
The milling about our van by people coming into the park picked up a lot around 5 am.
In the daylight, our situation was clearer.
About 20 feet from our parking place, there was a beautiful, grassy,
tree-shaded place to set up with a perfect view of the sky
that (by cosmic coincidence) was next to the one man in the park
with thousands of dollars in telescopic equipment and cameras aimed at the sky.
We set up a tent with no windows facing the sun,
threw sleeping bags and pillows, and toys and books and drawing materials into it,
and fired up the new camp stove to make coffee and oatmeal.
Amos ate two bowls, and kept walking back, holding out his bowl,
and asking, "More, please? More?"
My introverted daughter Elisa brought a book into the tent, and read,
coming out to look at the sun off and on until about fifteen minutes before totality,
when she stayed out.
Jeff took the little ones down to walk by the river for a little while,
and Isaiah and I went over to speak with the telescope man for a few minutes.
He offered a peek into the telescope, and we jumped at the chance.
As the eclipse began, a quietness came over the park.
There had been a constant line at the bathrooms all morning,
and we had heard they closed the park to new arrivals when they hit 1000 people.
Even though there were many people there, it did not feel crowded.
They were spread out over the grounds, and many were down at the boat-launch.
The quiet, though, was unusual for the amount of people there.
Especially since it lasted from just after 9 am until totality.
The park was full of owls, and their hooting was lovely.
There were a few possibly tipsy people around, but it wasn't a party scene.
A man a couple hundred yards away had a guitar,
and broke out into song periodically.
Just before totality, I heard him singing You Are My Sunshine to the sun.
As the shadow fell, some birds all went wherever it is they go,
and the owls, I noticed, got quiet.
I had asked my husband to videotape from just before totality,
and I'm glad I did,
because the hushed dimness that we had been in
erupted into cheers and shouts, and gasps of astonishment.
"Oh, WOW!" and other expressions of awe seemed to come from everywhere.
And rightly so.
The guitar man was praying out loud in another language.
Everything he'd sung all morning had been tinged with humor,
but I think the prayer was sincere.
Babies started crying in fear of the dark (although mine didn't).
Afterward, I told family, "That was the most glorious thing I've ever seen.
The sun's corona is so beautiful.
I've never seen anything so beautiful in my life."
And here's the thing: that beauty is always there.
The sun's corona is always blazing out its glory.
But we can only see it on these rare occasions
when the sun itself is veiled for a moment,
and our frail eyes are able to look up at what otherwise blinds and maims us.
Revelation 1:16 says of the Lord Jesus Christ:
"His countenance was like the sun shining in its strength."
In Exodus 33 the Lord says, "No man shall see Me and live".
But in John 14, Jesus says, "He who has seen Me has seen the Father."
He took on flesh, and veiled Himself in it,
giving us the chance to take a really good look at Him.
Praise the Lord!
Praise Him from the heavens;
praise Him in the heights!
Praise Him, all His angels;
praise Him, all His hosts!
Praise Him, sun and moon;
praise Him, all you stars of light!
Praise Him, you heavens of heavens!
Let them praise the name of the Lord,
for He commanded and they were created.
He also established them forever and ever;
He made a decree which shall not pass away...
Let them praise the name of the Lord,
for His name alone is exalted;
His glory is above earth and heaven.
(from Psalm 148)
