SPLASHDOWN

365 Days of Thanksliving — Day 131

When I was just a little tyke, my big brother Bruce had a GI Joe "astronaut" action figure—a hand-me-down that came equipped with a miniature rocket capsule and all. To a kid like me, that toy was one of the coolest things in existence. It didn’t have any bells or whistles; it couldn’t move on its own or make a sound, yet it represented something far greater than plastic and paint. It represented the vast, reaching ambition of the human spirit.

Just months after I was born, Apollo 11 lifted off from Cape Canaveral and carried humanity to the moon. For the first time in history, our species set foot on a world that wasn’t Earth. While I was too young to remember that specific giant leap, I carry a flickering memory of a subsequent Apollo launch—the roar, the fire, and the sheer audacity of it all. Then, the space race seemed to take a quiet hiatus, eventually giving way to the era of the Space Shuttle.

Ask any Gen-Xer and they can tell you exactly where they were when the Challenger suffered its catastrophic failure. I was a junior in high school, sitting in Biology class next to my friend Lisa Bye. Our teacher interrupted the lesson to wheel in a heavy TV cart, and we all watched in stunned, silent horror as the crew was lost just 73 seconds into the flight.

As horrific as that day was, setbacks have never been enough to keep our nation’s eyes off the horizon. Just two years later, on September 29, 1988, NASA launched Discovery. By then, I was an E-3 "NUB" stationed in Orlando, Florida, less than fifty miles from the launch pad. I was in Nuclear “A” school, and on that gorgeous day, class was dismissed early so we could stand outside and witness history. Even from fifty miles away, we could see that tiny white dot riding a massive plume of fire into the blue until she soared out of sight. We could almost feel the thunder vibrating in our chests, matched only by the thundering cheers of everyone on base.

These past two weeks have brought those memories rushing back, draped in a fresh sense of nostalgia. Today, I am incredibly thankful that after all these decades, four brave souls have safely splashed down into the Pacific Ocean after traveling nearly 695,000 miles to the moon and back. While this mission was a technical marvel, I find myself simply thanking God for their safe return. It is a reminder of the awe-inspiring journey we are all on.

I often gaze up at the moon and the stars and stand in genuine astonishment of God’s handiwork. The scriptures tell us less about the "why" of their creation and more about the "Who." The heavens truly do declare the glory of the Lord. I’m reminded of King David’s words in Psalm 8:

“When I observe your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you set in place, what is a human being that you remember him, a son of man that you look after him?”

It is a beautiful thing to see those same astronauts return home and offer praise to the Lord for His marvelous creation. They have touched the heavens in a way few ever will, and yet they remain grounded in gratitude.

Thank You, Father, for giving us the dreams, the passion, and the intellect to reach for the stars. Thank You for the brave men and women who lead the way and give us a reason to look up and cheer. But most importantly, thank You for bringing them home safely to inspire a new generation of dreamers—the ones who might, one day, leave their own footprints on the red dust of Mars.