By Kyle Roberts
“Every awesome thing in creation is designed to point you to the One who alone is worthy of capturing and controlling the awe of your searching and hungry heart.” — Paul David Tripp, “Awe: Why It Matters for Everything We Think, Say, and Do”
By now, you’ve heard plenty about our family’s travels and mostly tamed wanderlust. We’ve lost family members on the subway, taken drinks from a literal glacier, and we’ve even showcased our prowess for all things equine.
But yesterday — yesterday was something entirely different, and I’m finding the words difficult to write.
Monday, April 8, 2024, had been circled by many an amateur astronomer: a total eclipse would be coming over a huge swath of the United States, starting from Southwest Texas and moving all the way into Maine throughout the afternoon. Of course, not everyone in the USA would have the chance to be in what’s called the “path of totality;” that is reserved for anyone under the moon’s direct path to the sun.
Well, this one was close enough to us in North Louisiana, and we’d have a shot to get into that path in Arkadelphia, Ark., right after lunch if we timed everything perfectly and get to location with minimal cloud cover. Loading the kids up after a few hours of school, we headed northward, canceling the original plan to go west to Texarkana due to inclement weather.
Zooming (within reason, of course) through the backwoods of Arkansas, we arrived around 30 minutes before NASA.gov’s scheduled time for that region, 1:49 p.m. for “totality.” Surrounded by about 20 other people, including Pops, my brother, and a nice couple from Monroe who gave the girls Moon Pies, we all patiently awaited a half hour that felt like eternity. We shared stories about traveling to see this incredibly phenomenon, and I joyously reminded my kids that they would (hopefully) see something that they would not have the chance to see again for over two decades, at best.
As the moon began its coverage, not much changed at first since we’d arrived. Sure, we had the cute glasses so we didn’t go immediately blind, and we could see the eclipse beginning. But as long as there was even a sliver of sunlight, it still looked like a normal day.
Minutes continued to go by, and soon the sun was a Cheshire-smile behind the moon, enough to still illuminate most of the park we found as our solar eclipse base. Readying myself for disappointment, it was still fairly light outside right as I checked my watch at 1:48 p.m., though I’ll admit it felt like dusk.
Now, I’ve seen a couple of eclipses before in Lincoln Parish, with as much as 95 percent of the sun covered up. But any eclipse chaser will tell you: 95 percent is not 100.
And they are absolutely right.
At 1:49 p.m., the moon completely covered the sun. Total darkness. For four minutes, the Ouachita River didn’t just feel like night — it felt alien. As close to space travel as I will ever experience. I hear the “ooo’s” and “ah’s” from fellow eclipse chasers. This was a timestamp of experience that I will never forget.
For those few moments, the corona of the sun’s rays haloed the moon, and I was awestruck by the glory of God’s creation, yet again and this time with glasses off. I still get chills just thinking about what I saw with my own eyes.
Our God has given us beautiful mountains, cascading rivers, sunny beaches and vast oceans: those are there to for us to explore, from close to home to all over the world, if you have the means.
But a total solar eclipse? You can’t just take a random weekend and make a visit. You have an even greater barrier: the timing of the eternal cosmos, which will prove to be in no hurry to recreate the conditions for yesterday.
The U.S. will not have another chance to see this type of eclipse totality for over two decades. My children, God-willing, will be grown and have careers of their own. Hopefully, Pops will still be around. But who among us could possibly know?
That’s why yesterday has filled me with an awe that will be difficult to replicate.
And I’m so glad we made the call to go.
