Sometimes I forget there is a sky

Sometimes I forget to look up. I forget that the sky is more than an outdoor ceiling just slightly out of my 5'4" reach. I forget that the sky is an infinite expanse of space stretching toward the heavens, sprinkled with stars, planets, and things that shine and burn and freeze. What does this mean? It means that I'm looking eye level or, more likely, downward. I'm preoccupied with the tangible, the immediate, and the earthly. Of course I am. I'm in the midst of it. But still I need to remember to look up. I need to remember that creation is bigger than the radius of my arms. God is bigger than what I can grasp. I need to remember to take time to look up and wonder, to "ooh" and "awww" in wide-eyed wonder, or at least to gaze and smile at the beauty of the incomprehensible God. I think I will do that some time this week in honor of thanks giving. I will take time to go sit somewhere and just look up. Maybe then I will be thankful, not for turkey or pie or trite things, but for the things that a child of God should be thankful for.