Last week, Marti and I wrote about the stars of Isaiah House for homeless women – the ones who live there as well as the silver confetti stars strewn out on the ground in the aftermath of a “Puttin’ on the Ritz” celebration Marti engineered as part of a Women of Vision assistance program. Four days later, I’m still seeing stars.

There are stars on the floorboard of my car, stars on the dashboard, stars on the driveway, and yes, even stars in my eyes. You see, on the way back from the shelter last week, Chandler and his best friend, who had helped us decorate and were the ones responsible for originally distributing the confetti stars in the first place, tried to throw a handful of them out the window as we drove home on the freeway, and the wind had blown many of them back in the car with a number ending up on the panel behind the back seat. Those are the ones that revisit my mind the most because I see their reflection in the rear window every time I look through the rear view mirror; they float there, suspended. Today it rained, and through the raindrops on the window, the stars appear to hover just outside the car.

So far I haven’t done anything about removing them from my car. I don’t think I can. They’re almost sacred. I feel like I would be devaluing someone’s life if I did. So they will remain, at least for the time being, a reminder of God’s view of everyone, but especially those who haven’t had a fair shake in life.

Today I walked down to the beach, and guess what I almost stepped on in the street, strewn over two blocks by the runoff from a recent downpour? Stars. Apparently Chandler and his friend had tossed a few out the window as we drove up the street to our house.

I suppose you could call that littering the street. I prefer to think of it as glittering.