I once heard that every human carries at least one memory akin to an oasis in the desert of their soul—a soothing balm for all their anxieties. For me, that memory is the night sky, introduced to me by my mother when I was still a child, no older than five.
In the quiet corners of my mind, that sky still exists, adorned with thousands of tiny, shining specks. Those stars, like scattered jewels on velvet black, seemed alive to my childlike eyes. They danced silently, suspended high above, beckoning me to sail through their solitude and unravel the mysteries cloaked in the stillness of the night.
I lay on the damp grass, the cool dew brushing against my cheek. I can still recall the earthy fragrance of the dew-soaked blades mingling with the crisp night air. Above, the stars stood watch, their soft glow resembling the gentle flicker of candlelight on a humble altar—never too bright to blind but always enough to chase away the shadows that wove through my somber nights.
Beside me, my mother stood, her warm hand clasping my small fingers as if I were a fragile thing never meant to stray. Her gaze was fixed upward, and when she turned to me, her serene smile reminded me of the Virgin Mary—a figure I often saw at church, embodying a love and devotion far beyond the earthly.
"Look, sweetheart…" she whispered, her voice wrapping around me like a lullaby, her finger pointing toward a cluster of stars scattered far away. "Can you see the cross among them?"
I squinted, focusing hard, trying to piece together the lights into the shape she described. Yet all I saw was an endless ocean of stars, silent and vast, without any pattern I could discern. "I can't see it, Mom," I admitted softly, disappointment creeping into my voice.
She smiled gently, her quiet laugh a balm to my frustrated heart. "It's okay, darling… Not everyone can see it."
In the eternal hush of that night, we walked home, tracing the small path that slowly disappeared into the shadows. Her hand, warm and steadfast, remained in mine, a small flame guiding me through the darkness. Since that night, this memory has become a lantern in my heart—its glow faint but unwavering, leading me when I lose my way, when my steps stray from the path He intended for me.
This memory resurfaces every time I'm alone, breaking through the silence, calling from beyond the veil of time. Sometimes it feels like a ghost—unseen yet always present, haunting and comforting me, offering warmth and a reminder when I feel furthest from Him.