I’ve always been fascinated by the moon. Its beauty is something that’s magical and captivating, and I’ve been under its spell ever since I was a child.

I asked for a telescope one year for Christmas, maybe around the age of 7 or 8. I was certain it would take the moon to new heights for me, and it did. It wasn’t the best telescope, but it brought the heavens to me; each time I looked through it, I felt as though I was holding a tiny corner of the universe in the palm of my hand.

The stars hold a special place in my heart, too. I remember staring at them out my bedroom window when I was growing up, watching them flicker and twinkle as their light made its way through the atmosphere. White, blue, pink, yellow — they sparkled in all colors, a veritable box of crayons in the sky. To this day, stars adorn various parts of my life. Bronze-trimmed, beveled mirror stars grace the fireplace mantel; a massive star of the same variety hangs in the guest room. Tin stars liven up the office — both at home and at my workplace. And around my neck most days is another star — a tiny one that’s housed in a glass locket with other charms tumbling about inside.

At 37,000 feet, I saw the moon peek out from behind the August haze. It would be awake for the duration of the night while most of us wrap up our days and turn in for the evening. As I type, it’s out my window, reminiscent of a night light from my younger years.

“No need to be afraid — I’m here,” I could almost hear it saying as we encountered a bit of turbulence.

Even while flying into darkness with the slightest bit of turquoise glow on the western horizon behind us, it keeps pace, lighting the way and shining more brilliantly than any other moon I’ve seen. It acts as a heavenly flashlight, highlighting streams and causing any body of water to glow. Such are the joys of being closer to the moon than I am most nights. Such are the unexpected perks of work travel on a warm summer weekend evening.

Tonight I am thankful for the undying spell the moon casts on me, and for the beauty it still holds decades later. I don’t have a telescope anymore, but its pull and magic doesn’t need any magnification — it will forever be a symbol of hope, faithfulness and unwavering guidance.