Posted on by Lori Cartmell

The Storms of Jupiter

Image of Jupiter from NASA/ESA’s Hubble Space Telescope, via Wikimedia Commons CC 4.0

Can storms be beautiful?

Yes, if you’re far enough away from them!

The most distinctive feature of the planet Jupiter, its Great Red Spot, is actually a massive storm.

Astronomers have been observing this maelstrom continuously since 1878, but it’s likely that it had been raging for centuries before that. The size of this storm is so vast that it could swallow the entire earth.

From a safe distance away here on earth, the Great Red Spot’s colourful swirls are beautiful, like marbled ice cream or the end papers of antique books. Jupiter’s storms appear to us like abstract art; indeed, images of them have appeared on everything from posters and ties to bedsheets and yoga mats.

But up close, they’re violent tempests, howling hurricanes of ammonia and water. Because Jupiter is a gaseous planet, there is no solid ground to dissipate the energy of these swirling vortexes, as would happen on earth when a hurricane makes landfall. At its edges, the Red Spots’s wind speeds can reach 270-425 mph (430-680 km/h), over twice the speed of even the most monstrous hurricane here on earth.

Do you feel like you’re in a storm like that right now?

Perhaps you’ve been enduring heartache, unemployment, illness, or loneliness.

Maybe it seems like the tempest has been raging in your life for years. Nothing seems to slow it down. From a distance, people can’t see how destructive it is to you.

The good news is that God offers hope to those in the midst of the storms of life.

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Posted on by Lori Cartmell

See What You’re Missing!

Image of the Milky Way by Evgeni Tcherkasski from Pixabay

Have you seen the Milky Way recently?

If you have, you can count yourself among the fortunate.

Astronomers say that light pollution from artificial lights is strong enough in many places to blot out the stars. They’ve calculated that over a third of humanity, and almost 80 percent of North Americans, can no longer see the Milky Way. Indeed, here in Toronto we’re lucky if we can even see the Big Dipper.

Few of us seem to recognize how sad this really is.

Vision scientist Sonke Johnsen does. He wrote:

“The thought of light traveling billions of years from distant galaxies only to be washed out in the last billionth of a second by the glow from the nearest strip mall depresses me no end.”

We seem to devalue the incredible gift of the night skies. We don’t pay it much mind when it’s there. And if we can’t see it any longer, the loss is of little importance to us.

Why is it that losing our connection to the wonder of our galaxy doesn’t seem to bother us? Is it our self-sufficiency? Are we so caught up with our shiny, man-made baubles that we’re blind to our need for something real?

I think this detachment from the cosmos speaks to a spiritual apathy, too.

How is it that we’re indifferent to the awesome gift of the Son of God?

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