I walked across the tarmac at Roberts International Airport in Monrovia, Liberia under a full moon. Only two weeks in Africa and my heart was breaking – not for the pain, suffering, loss of infrastructure, crushing poverty or brokenness I saw. No, my heart broke because I had fallen in love and I was leaving my beloved behind.

We flew across the Sahara, the vast inhospitable expanse by day was rendered hauntingly beautiful by the light of the moon. I could see the occasional clusters of light indicating some kind of village or town, and I marveled at both the fact that people lived in this place and that they had electricity when so many of my beloved did not.

Our flight path continued north across the Mediterranean Sea, past the sparkling lights of Cannes and the French Riviera and towards the Alps. The night was clear and cloudless and the moon ignited the snow covered mountains as the lights of the streets and villages below filled the valleys like carelessly tossed strands of Christmas lights.

The next night I was back home in my own bed. I awoke before dawn to have my usual “quiet time” in my comfy chair. I felt as if I had just awoken from a dream – in fact, I had been dreaming about being back in Africa with my team, moving boxes, prepping for the day’s activities, working with my Liberian brothers – but here I was again in my routine, my appointed place, business as usual.

But how could it ever be business as usual again?

As the sun came up, I took the dogs for a walk. The moon was still big and bright and hung low in the morning sky. This moon I was looking at here is the same one that I looked up at in Monrovia and the same one that lighted my way home across iconic terrain. It was a lovely reminder of God’s constant presence, and I sent up a quick prayer of gratitude and wonder that I could still share this with my beloved Liberian brothers and sisters nearly 8000 miles away.

It is a comfort to me to look to the heavens and know that there is more that binds us together than miles can separate.