‘When I was little, I used to lay outside and reach my hands up to the sky above , convinced I could touch the great moving clouds if I just extended my arms a little further…’

“I truly believed they would answer me if I could only reach them.”

“I still does,” Lizi mutters to herself with a small smile.

Even now, as an adult, some things haven’t changed. Every night after a long day, she finds herself drawn to the same quiet ritual. She lies back on the hood of her car, arms tucked beneath her head, eyes tilted upward to the wide, open sky. The same sky she once tried to reach. The same sky she still hopes to understand.

Sometimes she tries to count the stars, even though she always loses track. Other times, she just stares at the drifting clouds and thinks, “Wow. It’s cotton candy… that brings rain and thunder.”

There’s a kind of poetry in it, how something that looks so soft can carry something so powerful. Lizi likes that. It reminds her of herself.

And maybe, more than anything, the sky reminds her of God.

No matter what happens, whether the days are good or hard or messy, she knows she’s covered. Not just physically, but spiritually. Emotionally. Quietly. Just like the sky above her, God is always there. Constant, even when the clouds hide Him for a while.

Sometimes, when her words run dry and she doesn’t know how to pray, she simply looks up. She’ll whisper, or yell, or cry, or sing to the sky. Whatever’s in her heart, she offers it upward, believing somehow that He hears it. That even if the words don’t make sense to her, they will to Him.

Even now, as she’s writing this on her phone, thumbs tapping slowly, while lying under that same open sky. The one she once tried to touch. The one that still listens.