The heavens tell of God's glory

“The heavens are telling of the glory of God: And their expanse is declaring the work of His hands. Day to day pours forth speech, And night to night reveals knowledge.” So begins Psalm 19. Stunning photos of this week's aurora borealis have flooded social media — each person excited to share their particular gulp of glory. Even by Alaska standards — where I lived fourteen years — this looked like a brilliant northern lights display.

The word “glory” has a couple of definitions — one being “high renown or honor won by notable achievement” — and the second “magnificence or great beauty.” If you're a sports fan then you know the Kansas City Chiefs are “livin' the glory.” Winners of this year's Super Bowl they achieved renown — defeating all the other aspiring NFL teams trying to land the Lombardi Trophy.

Honor is an achievement, as well — but not always as shiny as renown. It can be something quietly notable like keeping a promise. Or a selfless act — as in the movie “A Man Called Otto” — when a young Otto eats at home before dining out, so he can afford for his date to order the meal she wants.

The aurora without question falls in the definition of “magnificence and great beauty” — just one in a myriad of heavenly wonders that speaks the glory of God. A scientific explanation — yes. But where does the science come from? This is the unexplainable glory of God.

There's a startling “glory” found in Proverbs 19. “A man's discretion makes him slow to anger, And it is his glory to overlook a transgression.” This is so low down on the glory radar for many of us that it doesn't even qualify.

God thinks it counts. In a “blame and shame” culture He's putting out a different word. First, slow down the anger. He is a God “slow to anger and abounding in lovingkindness.”

Things are going to happen in our lives — deliberate or unintended — that presents a choice. We are either going to overlook them or we are not. There's really no middle ground. No “sorta” forgive. I'll never forget one December when we had an agreement with a financial advisor to withdraw some money before and after the first of the year — for tax purposes — while we were trying to purchase a decent used vehicle.

This person forgot the end-of-the-year withdrawal. I was in the garage a few days into January when I got the call. It was the best feeling — standing among my husband's “fix it” projects — to overlook the error and say genuinely, ”It's okay. We'll figure it out.” I didn't know how, because the type of SUV we were looking for needed both withdrawals.

But, wouldn't you know, one came up for sale that was right for us and was just the amount of the new year withdrawal. We didn't end up needing the forgotten sum.

This barely registers on the “overlook a transgression” list, I know. But it was my own bit of “garage glory.” When there is every right to be angry, to blame or shame, to be resentful, to exact revenge — and yet to look beyond that — so far beyond that we overlook it altogether, then we have achieved something notable — we have done something magnificent. We're “livin' the glory.