I really wanted to see the comet. The New York Times article made it clear I should scan the heavens now, not later. “Enjoy it while you can. The frozen ball of ice won’t return to the inner solar system for 6,800 years.” [“Comet NEOWISE: How to See It in Night Skies,” The New York Times, July 15, 2020]

The image headlining the article was glorious. NEOWISE (NASA’s Near-Earth Object Wide-field Infrared Survey Explorer) was shown plunging toward the horizon in a long-tailed fireball over Mount Washington near Springfield, Oregon.

But the inspiring photo implied a warning―my chances of seeing NEOWISE were not good. The grand starry carpet of skies over the purplish outline of mountains announced, “No light pollution here.” Wheaton, Illinois is not Springfield, Oregon, or Montlucon, France, or the Colorado National Monument—places where photos showcased NEOWISE against a vast dark sky.

Nevertheless, the article was encouraging to suburban dwellers like me. “NEOWISE . . . has even been spotted by people living near city centers with all the light pollution.” Per a Harvard & Smithsonian Center astronomer, “You can watch it from your backyard and you don’t need a telescope.”

Supposedly you could even take a cellphone photo of this comet. “Try framing NEOWISE against a nice background such as a tree,” helpfully suggested another astronomer.

My husband is always framing cellphone photos against a tree. On the evening of July 22, I convinced him we needed to try to see NEOWISE. We grabbed our binoculars and followed the article’s instructions: Wait until an hour and a half after sunset. Look to the northwest. Find the Big Dipper and follow its ladle toward the horizon. “NEOWISE will appear [!] under the Big Dipper about 10 degrees above the horizon.”

We hedged on one instruction: go to the darkest area possible. Our viewing site was our backyard, reasonably dark for Wheaton, but nothing like the dark sky over a mountain. We scanned, we searched, we focused and refocused the binoculars. After 45 minutes or so, we thought we had seen a few blurry stars that might have been moving, but no NEOWISE.

It had been a partly cloudy night, I reasoned. And the article said the comet would make its closest approach to Earth on July 23. My husband agreed we should try again.

The evening of July 23 was beautiful, with a clear dark sky. We returned to our backyard, this time adjusting our position for a cleaner view of the horizon. Again, we trained our binoculars on the night sky, searching for the brilliant fusion of gas and dust that had traveled from the outer reaches of the solar system.

We didn’t see NEOWISE.

Friday, July 24, was another lovely evening. Warm, not humid. Clear sky. We decided to search for NEOWISE one more time, but at a new location, the empty soccer fields at the front of Seven Gables Park. We parked in the front lot shortly before sunset. A few cars were parked far to our left; were others also watching for the comet? The sun set in a quiet orange and pink glow. The sky slowly darkened, and stars began to come out.

We stayed in the park a long time that evening, watching and waiting for a coveted glimpse of NEOWISE. But that night, not even a clear sky, an empty field, or its near approach to earth brought NEOWISE before our eyes. We didn’t “find” the comet, though of course it was there, a ball of ice streaking near earth through a sky where most likely you did need inky darkness and a decent telescope to see its bright display.

Though we didn’t see NEOWISE, the nights of star gazing offered something else.

As we sat in the dark looking up for something we never saw, we recalled a time years ago during a family camping vacation to Wisconsin with our two children when we did see celestial magnificence. The four of us had headed to a tiny boat landing well after dark, hoping to see a mass of stars, and God instead treated us to an unexpected shower of northern lights. On this night in the disquieting summer of 2020 we had hoped for similar drama from a comet, but our heavenly Father still used the quiet interlude for his purposes.

The NYT article concluded with a suggestion from the astronomer who was the principal investigator of NEOWISE: “Things are really tough right now for lots of people,” said Dr. Amy Mainzer. “But this is a chance to look up and reconnect with the big picture stuff.”

I’m not sure how this particular astronomer defines “big picture stuff” but for me and my husband those July evenings spent searching for a comet became a time to not only look up, but to look beyond to the Creator, and then especially to look in, inside God’s Word for reminders of who is the One who created and sustains not only comets, but all heaven and earth.

Isaiah 40:25-28 says, “To who then will you compare me, that I should be like him? says the Holy One. Lift up your eyes on high and see: who created these? He who brings out their host by number, calling them all by name; by the greatness of his might and because he is strong in power, not one is missing. Why do you say, O Jacob, and speak, O Israel, “My way is hidden from the LORD, and my right is disregarded by my God?” Have you not known? Have you not heard? The LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable.”

God knows exactly where NEOWISE is. Perhaps he has even given it a name, hopefully one less wonky and cumbersome than the one chosen by NASA. But more importantly he knows where I am. Where my husband is. Where all of his children are during this strange and yes, tough time. Our way is not hidden from him, and he who “does not faint or grow weary”, he the One of unsearchable understanding, is fully able to sustain us.