They were overjoyed at seeing the star, and on entering the house they saw the child with Mary his mother. // Matthew 2:10-11
I recently had some unfamiliar bouts of anxiety. My body took on the weight of a certain circumstance in a way that I didn’t recognize, for no obvious reason and far beyond my control.
As I rambled off my racing thoughts, a friend texted me, “What is the Lord saying?”
Before typing something back, my own heart responded honestly to itself.
I don’t know.
I couldn’t hear Him in the ways I usually do. I was too tired to journal, process out loud, or drive to the chapel.
With a headache and a weary spirit, I knew I had to take a smaller step.
I ate what I had in my pantry, shuffled a random playlist, and stepped outside on my porch. I sat really still and let messy prayers enter the mix of all the other things in my head. In tiny increments, like on tiptoes, my soul was redirected toward the closeness that God and I both desired.
In the Gospel for today’s feast of Epiphany, the Magi were “overjoyed at seeing the star” (Matthew 2:10). They knew that by following it, they were closer to something better. Sure enough, when they reached the end of the star’s path, they found what they were really looking for.
Our own “stars” are great gifts to us—the daily, sweet things (like music or fresh air) that help us smile and walk one more step. They are “epiphanies” that signify the presence of Jesus, little instruments of His very practical hope.
That day, when my “stars” had helped as much as they could, I found what I actually needed. It was the newborn Jesus, Who wasn’t speaking or thinking clearly either. Like babies do, He just cried with me, and we sat helpless in the arms of Mary together.
I still sit wordless like this in His presence a lot. The circumstances keep changing and the anxiety still ebbs and flows. Yet, at the very sight of Him, my joy just continues to multiply.
I imagine myself kneeling with the Magi, just saying to each other, “The star was beautiful, but He is extraordinary.”