There’s a seven-star pattern in the night sky, all year round. Probably no matter where you are in the northern hemisphere, you can see it too. In Korean it’s 북두칠성 (Buk-du-chil-seong) and 北斗七星 in Chinese characters. In English, it’s the Big Dipper.
I’ve seen it all my life (or at least ever since I got glasses in the third grade). But I still remember the feeling of looking up and seeing it sandwiched overhead between the tops of two apartment buildings in Korea. I was standing in the long, narrow parking lot that separated my building from its equally shabby twin. That one had a view at least; my apartment’s view was that building’s backside. Both were five floors, four stairwells with two apartments at each landing. No elevators.
I’d come in from an evening walk, my way lighted by street lamps and my loneliness distracted by seeing a few people here and there outside the convenience stores and diners. But distractions are just that and I had returned home still restless.
Until I saw the Big Dipper overhead. Its position was perfect, its presence so familiar. I smiled—I couldn’t help it. For at least a few minutes I stood and felt something indescribable: I think it was a sense of belonging.
To what, to where. That didn’t matter. To whom was important, and it was God.
A couple of months later (I think it was) I was camping under the stars, this time in upstate New York. I settled into my sleeping bag, looked up and my gaze rested on it again: right overhead, seven stars, 북두칠성 Bukduchilseong, I thought. It’s here too. I almost shivered—certainly smiled—as my mind flashed back to the parking lot in Taebaek, Korea. I am at home everywhere, I thought.
Later, I saw it in Yeongwol, Korea.
And most recently, I saw it in Pennsylvania.
Perhaps the One who knows all things knows how to give us unshakable moments of home, of love, of belonging, even (or especially) when “home” has lost physical meaning. For millions of refugees across the world, home really is lost. A loss much more than my sentimental “loss” could ever be. Do they ever find comfort in familiar dotted patterns shining in the night sky?
Always, 북두칠성 the Big Dipper has made me feel at home, no matter where my feet are planted. I’m thankful for those seven stars.
I hope you see them too. I hope it makes you smile.
And to my readers in the southern hemisphere: I know, I’ve been there too. You have your own beloved constellations. Fortunately, we share the same moon. That’s the topic of another blog. . . .
Beautiful, any tips on finding work in Korea?
But I'm glad you've found peace out there.