I never thought I’d witness a wondrous moment waiting outside a bathroom.
 
We were camping in my happy place, Tuolumne Meadows. It’s the high elevation part of Yosemite National Park where the air and crowds are thinner, but everything in sight—massive granite domes, peaks reaching toward Heaven, and a rushing river—screams of God’s magnificent creation.
 
In Tuolumne Meadows, the days are simple. Hike. Return to camp. Cook. Eat. Wash dishes. Hang out by the fire. Go to bed.
 
One cloudless, crisp night with a riot of stars in the sky, we all felt the temperature drop fast. Time to get cozy in our sleeping bags. From the sound of it, everyone in the campground had the same idea. Bear box doors clanged shut. Car doors slammed. Tent zippers went up and down. My daughter and I joined a steady stream of campers headed to the bathroom to wash up for the night.
 
It was getting colder and colder, so I rushed through my evening routine. “Sweetie Pea, are you almost done?”
 
“I’m going as fast as I can, Mama.”
 
Other campers were waiting. I was getting impatient. “Anna, I’m waiting outside.”
 
“Ok, Mama.”
 
I perched on a granite boulder a few yards from the bathroom. I breathed in fresh forest air mixed with smoke from smoldering campfires. I felt impatient. The call of my warm sleeping bag was getting stronger and stronger. I started worrying about bears. I flipped on my flashlight to be sure one wasn’t planning an attack at that very moment.
 
Then, wonder struck.
 
I heard a father talking to his young son in a nearby campsite.  “Look up. Look up!” I couldn’t see them, but I knew they had to be huddled close with Papa’s arm reaching toward the sky. I looked up, too. The cold, cloudless night made the sky darker and the stars brighter.
 
And there it was. The Big Dipper. Framed by branches of pine trees reaching toward Heaven.  “Son, it looks like a pouring pot. See the handle? That’s the Big Dipper!”
 
“Daddy, Daddy, I see it. I see it.”
 
Oh, to be present at the first moment a jumble of stars becomes a crystal clear picture in the sky. A collection of hot gas at least eighty light years away that little boy could seek and find for the rest of his life.
 
Even though I’ve seen the Big Dipper thousands of times, I’m still awestruck when I find it in the night sky. I know my joy can’t compare to the Magi’s when they saw the Star of Bethlehem, but I’ll always remember my celestial Tuolumne Meadows moment. It’s when listening and looking up transformed impatience into wonder. But most of all, I love that it happened while I waited outside a bathroom with a chorus of flushing toilets and campers spitting toothpaste into sinks.
 
But that shouldn’t surprise us. God uses humble people and locations for His greatest miracles. Oh, to be in the manger when Mary first held baby Jesus, God incarnate, Savior of the World, born fully human.
 
My prayer is that we see our usual Christmas routines and rituals with first-time, wondrous eyes; that we expect joyful moments in humble locations—like gas stations, big box stores, and neighborhood streets. Slow down to listen and look up. Let’s shout to the Lord like the Tuolumne Meadows child, “Father, Father, I see it. I see it,” preparing us for Christ’s birth like we’re experiencing it for the first time, even though He’s been with us our entire lives. Just like all the stars twinkling in the sky, but brighter.

Lorrie Tom loved reading Properties of Thirst, Shark Heart, and Go as a River this year. A childhood Christmas gift she’ll always remember is her Easy-Bake Oven. One of the ways that Lorrie connects with God is by writing haiku because the process makes her slow down, look up, and notice our Lord’s creation.