A star is reborn

I am here -- somewhere.

I remember a few days before my good Dad died back in November 1990, I had this fleeting dream of him. For whatever reason, he was wearing the tattered clothes that were the uniform-of-the-day for boys of the Great Depression. A skinny, red-haired lad in a large, hardscrabble family near Yankeetown, Ind. But there he was, amidst all of the misery of those days, scampering through a field and then suddenly hopping around the stars you still can see in back-country Hoosierland on a clear night.

That wonderful dream has clung to me for two decades. I think of the Creator, the profound philosophers and even the great scientists who, in their different ways, say we all come from the stars and are destined to return to them. I like that; I believe it.

To this day I recall those three Magi who followed that Star to Bethlehem that is one symbol of my faith. And I recall the great explorers who navigated their way through this planet and into outer space. What wondrous journeys we are capable of, eh?

So, I must confess the heavens drew nearer to me last December on my birthday with a special gift. My girlfriend Robyn presented me with something I never would have imagined. She made me a star. Rather, she had one named after me through the International Star Registry in Switzerland. I have the plaque, paperwork and other sources to bear this out.

For starters, I must admit I never have really spent much time dwelling on the great mystery of my place in the cosmos. I was born, I live – and well the final chapters still are still being written. But Robyn’s gift was something quite touching and unique.

Some 25 or so light years from downtown Indianapolis is this star in the Lyra  Constellation:   RA19h 16m 36s D 29’ 0’. But As of Dec. 21, 2010, it’s name became Sir Joe Patrick Stuteville.

I do confess, the warped side of me initially thought of the marketing potential. Perhaps I could parlay this newly acquired real estate into a time-share. Maybe offer a flat rate to potential tenants if they were willing to pay for their own transportation and arrange for their accommodations.

 I’ve done some reading on this new dominion of mine and it’s said that it is a “normal, middle-aged star similar to our sun.” After this winter, I must admit the warmer weather attracts me. The good news is that this place is not as distant as other stars – my namesake is in the Milky Way within our own galaxy and I have an estimated 100 billion neighbors. Somehow, I don’t feel as distant to the folks on my street on Indy’s south side.

Sorry. Didn’t mean to go all Carl Sagan on you.

Robyn’s great gift to me, in retrospect, has put a few things in perspective for me. First, the vastness of the many universes and worlds beyond our own staggers my weak imagination. Second, humankind is still capable of the voyage of search and discovery. Third, there’s no good reason why faith, reason and science must be compelled to be at odds. Fourth, when you factor in what time we really do have in the skins we wear now,  it doesn’t add up to much; it’s what we do with it [John Lennon said, “Life is what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans”].

Last, I thank my lucky stars – including the one that now has my name – which every morning I wake up is an introduction to good possibilities here on terra firma.

I, too, am scampering across the canopy of my time and place.