I was one of the fortunate ones in America who got to see the full solar eclipse Aug. 21. It was one of the most hyped events I've ever been part of, but it lived up to the billing.
It was on a Monday. Of course it would be on a Monday. That's one of our production days at the paper, so I knew it would be even crazier than usual. I'd decided I was going to go to the Seward County Historical Society Museum in Goehner to see what I could get there. I knew the skies would be open - no trees or power lines to contend with. I didn't know what kind of crowd would be there, but I figured I'd go anyway.
I'd thought about how I was going to approach this event. What was I going to try to get for photos? How much would I actually be able to just enjoy the eclipse without watching through the telephoto lens? I had visions of the pictures I really wanted, but would I be able to get them? I knew I had one shot (no pun intended) to get them, so, you know, no pressure.
I watched the sun gradually disappear through my eclipse glasses. Without them, I didn't notice a difference in the light. But then, the light changed. It went from daylight to a sort-of in-between light and then it was gone. I took off the glasses and caught my breath.
Everyone at the museum burst into spontaneous applause and then fell silent, awed by what they were seeing. I'm not sure what went through my mind. I think I was stunned by the incredible beauty in the sky and overwhelmed by the divine planning that had gone into creating that moment.
I'm not sure if I breathed during the minute-plus the sun was dark. I'm sure I did, or I would've passed out. I don't know if the crickets or night bugs were chirping. I don't know if the street lights came on. I don't know what anyone else was doing. I was trying to take as many pictures as I could and still take a moment to try to soak it all in. Unbelievable. Awesome. Incredible. Amazing. Overwhelming. Every adjective I could think of fell so far short of reality, I gave up trying to describe it.
As I've thought back to that minute, I've tried to think of things to say about it that haven't been said. I saw one person called their eclipse photo "one ring to control them all," which, as you know, is not accurate. It's "one ring to rule them all." But that's irrelevant. Of course the verse "the heavens declare the glory of God" is a commonly recited phrase. And Andrew suggested "day to day utters speech, night to night shows knowledge," which is also good.
And then, just like that, it was over. The light got funky - otherworldly, according to SCHS Museum Curator Jordan Miller - and we were back to daylight. When I thought about the eerie light, I found myself thinking about the Song of Albion books by Stephen Lawhead. His protagonist goes between our world and Albion during the time between times, and I wondered if that's what the light was like. My pictures didn't reflect the strangeness of those moments, so memories will have to suffice.
I'm still not sure what to say about the eclipse. Awesome is an overused descriptor, and I hear amazing too often to be able to apply it. Incredible might work, but even that doesn't quite get there. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience here. I doubt I'll ever see another one.
It was so fast. I think the eclipse crossed the entire United States in a couple hours. That's crazy. I heard stories of applause everywhere. I love that - the spontaneous outpouring of appreciation for God's creation and perfect plan that allowed us to witness this phenomenal event.
