Hope is sitting on the roof, watching fireworks. She’s alone. I’d feel sad for her, but I did the same thing thirty-five years ago or so. So I feel more melancholy with her than sad for her.
It’s that feeling of watching something that is supposed to be communal when you are alone. There are huge images, loud noises, things that make you want to nudge someone and you can’t.
I don’t remember what I did.
David wrote a poem.
I don’t think he was sitting on a roof, exactly, but he sat outside often at night. Watching sheep. Watching for attackers. Watching for sons to come home. Out of those nights of staring at the sky, alone, he started to write.
The heavens declare the glory of God;
the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
Day after day they pour forth speech;
night after night they reveal knowledge.
They have no speech, they use no words;
no sound is heard from them.
Yet their voice goes out into all the earth,
their words to the ends of the world.
On one hand, we think, “Talking skies. David had been out there a bit too long.”
On the other hand, what if David is taking the time to think quietly to say, “If God wanted to talk to someone who was stuck alone looking at the sky, how would he do it?”
David knew that the way to show your capacity as a soldier is to win battles. The way to show your capacity as a poet is to write poems. The way to show your capacity as a loving father is to consistently love your kids. And one way to show your capacity as a God is to produce an amazing worldwide fireworks show every night.