Ouch!"

The loose stones rattled and rolled downhill, dislodging under my feet and sending me to the ground. I picked myself up to wipe the grit from my knees, the repayment for another misstep. My attention redirected, something caught my eye. I leaned down to hold a pale peach stone, resembling a miniature Eiffel Tower. Then I picked up another one, cool and smooth, worn by the elements.

My focus on reaching the top of the Eisenhower Park trail had distracted me from seeing the pebbles that hindered my journey, and, if I had not slipped, I might never have given these rocks a passing glance. I had missed their beauty and mystery in my hurry to reach the summit.

I often feel unnoticed like those rocks. I desperately desire to be known, to be cherished for the unique ways I have been shaped by the elements of life. But distractions come and leave me feeling insignificant, unremarkable and unworthy of other's attention.

Not everyone takes notice of the stones on that path, but their Creator does. Geologists could explore that hill for a thousand years and still not see them as God does. He knows when they were made, where they began, how they broke apart from the larger whole. He even knows how many people have laid eyes on them or touched them or fell because of them.

How much more knowledgeable is He of my life? Every hour, every minute, every second. When any thought springs into existence. When any word crosses my lips. When any sin is conceived in my heart. He knows it all.

David wrote in Psalm 139: 1-3: "O Lord, You have searched me and known me. You know when I sit down and when I rise up; You understand my thoughts from afar. You scrutinize my path and my lying down, and are intimately acquainted with all my ways."

In our hurry to reach the summits of life, our stumbles and falls often teach us the deepest lessons. I made it to the top that day, but what I remember most are those stones. There are times I still feel desperate to be noticed. But then I am reminded how I am completely known by an all-knowing God.

On a recent visit to see my sister Suzy, I got to see the new plants in her backyard vegetable garden, like watermelons, carrots and a half a dozen corn stalks. Suzy later asked if I noticed the cherry tomatoes maturing in a corner. She called them "volunteers," explaining that she didn't intentionally plant them. They had sprung to life from her compost pile: a stash of banana peels, apple cores and, apparently, tomato seeds.

That's what God often does in our lives. He takes our stinky sin, our overripe shame—our junk—and makes something new and useful from it. Like Romans 8:28 says, "And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose." Sin isn't good. Loss and hardships are painful. But God can take anything—what seems like refuse—in the life of a believer and make good come out of it. Think of the Cross. It was horrible, grueling. But through Christ's sacrifice we have eternal life.

As I bit into one of those cherry tomatoes, I thought about how thankful I was for the unexpected life that burst out of Suzy's compost pile.

Strolling down a gravel road on a dark night in central South Dakota, I saw a luminous streak across my peripheral vision. Turning to look, I saw the manic meteorite, which started at a height and then quickly descended, explode in a crescendo of light and sparks, like cosmic pyrotechnics. "Wow!" I couldn't help but exclaim. This magnificent meteor easily trumped any shooting star I'd ever witnessed.

Scientists estimate that as many as 200 million visible meteors fall through the earth's atmosphere every day. That would mean that meteors capable of being seen by the human eye are constantly falling. In reality, I see an incredibly small fraction of them—perhaps 10 to 15 a year. Yet when I consider the vastness of the universe, it is not difficult for me to believe that these meteors are constantly falling, especially in light of God's power. Indeed, Psalm 19:1 says, "The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of His hands" (New International Version).

The events of God's natural world remind me of His constant work among people, to bind broken hearts and to draw people to a relationship with Himself. Some days I clearly see God at work, but many days I don't, and I am tempted to doubt and question that He is actually active among people. Yet then God reveals shooting-star moments, when His work is clearly on display—someone coming to faith in Him or a direct answer to prayer.

It helps me believe that He is still moving, even when I don't see. Just like falling stars.