When Tomorrow Comes by Janette Oke Page A

“They are really big. And so many. Did you know there were so many?”
    Laray smiled.
    “Do you think there are hundreds?” Danny continued.
    “Way more than hundreds.”
    “Did you count them?”
    “No one has counted them.”
    “Bet God has.”
    “I think you’re right.”
    “Do they got names?”
    “Yeah, I think many of them do. Some were named even before Job’s time. He talks about them in the Bible, chapter nine. Orion. The Bear. Pleiades. I’ll show you.”
    Christine was impressed with Laray’s knowledge of the Scriptures.
    Laray pulled over and stopped the car. From their vantage point, the whole canopy above was on display. Not a cloud hid from view any of the myriad of stars that twinkled above them.
    “Now, if we just had us some northern lights it would be about perfect,” Laray commented.
    “Perfect,” repeated Christine.
    “What are north’ren lights?”
    “Northern,” Christine explained. “In the North. Lights. Special lights that God has placed in the skies. They are all colors and they dance and . . . they aren’t like the stars that just twinkle. They are . . . are whole . . . whole sheets of light that change and move and . . .” Christine stopped. How did one explain the northern lights to a small boy?
    “Like lightning?”
    “Something like lightning . . . but different. I guess there is really nothing like them to compare them to.”
    “I’d like to see them.”
    “Maybe one day your daddy—or your grandpa—can take you there.”
    “I’d like that.”
    Christine was quick to caution, “That’s not a promise. That was just a . . . a maybe . . . someday.”
    Danny nodded solemnly. Christine hoped he understood.
    The astronomy lesson began in earnest with Laray pointing out and naming the various visible stars and planets. Christine was amazed at how much he knew. To help Danny locate what he was pointing to, he drew diagrams in the snow. “And this is Orion. The star points are like this and the outline of the hunter is here—like this.”
    Danny looked from the diagram to the skies. “I can see it,” he shouted. “I see him. Right there. See.”
    “Look,” Christine cried as a star went streaking down through the sky, leaving a long, bright tail in its wake. “A falling star.”
    Danny stood openmouthed until the last glimmer of light died away.
    “Why did it do that?” He turned to Laray.
    “I don’t think anyone knows for sure.”
    “Where did it go?”
    “It burns out—as it falls.”
    “Now God doesn’t have that one anymore.” Danny sounded so sad that Christine found herself reaching an arm around his shoulder. Even Laray seemed affected by the young boy’s disappointment. It would not do to tell Danny that God had millions of stars. That one really didn’t matter. Instead, Laray wisely turned the small boy’s attention back to the ones still there.
    Laray finally checked his watch. “Guess it’s your bedtime.” Christine couldn’t believe how quickly the time had slipped by.
    Danny knew better than to object. “Can we do this again?” he asked instead.
    “Sure. Why not? The stars are up there every night.”
    “Sometimes we can’t see them.”
    Laray took Danny’s hand. “Sometimes we can’t—but they’re there all the same.”
    It was a quiet trip back to town. Laray did not suggest that he come in with them. He walked the two up to the door and waited until Christine had turned on the light, then bid them a good-night.
    Danny was washed and pajama-clad and tucked in bed.
    Christine smiled at his evening prayer. Besides his usual entreaties, he had added one more. “And, God, please don’t let too many of your stars fall, ’cause I like to look at them.”
    Christine kissed his cheek and tucked the covers around his chin.
    Back in the living room she stirred up the fire and fed it another log. Not for the warmth needed, but for the comfort. For some reason she could not explain, she felt strangely lonely. She wondered if