Alone in the Expanse

Essay by Rhianon Rae, photography by Kym van der Plas

Expanse: a large, open area of land, water or sky. (Cambridge Dictionary) 

Something happens to me when I visit my family’s farm in the Wheatbelt. As we drive away from the outskirts of Perth and into the beautiful green of the Chittering Valley, my shoulders slowly, incrementally begin to release their seemingly boundless tension. We may or may not stop at the Bindoon Bakehaus for a predictably delicious afternoon tea. As we drive further along the Great Northern Highway the scenery tends to become more dominated by the red brown dust I grew up with. The eucalyptus trees frame the highway, as do the endless reflectors guiding the nighttime traveller. Usually there is a sense of relief when we arrive; it is, after all, a drive with small children (let the reader understand). Hugs from Mum and Dad; excitement from the kids; dinner is already cooked for us to eat. Sweet relaxation for me. For a few brief days, the weight of caregiving is partially taken from me and happily lifted by the grandparents who do breakfast, who read Bible stories, who listen to the stories and the requests and cuddle the baby. 

***

It is not only the family help though that lifts the weight from my shoulders when I’m in the country. I’ve realised over time that the country provides me with something that it is very hard for me to experience in my city life. That is the experience of the expanse. And even more particularly, the experience of being alone in the expanse. 

The idea of being alone in the expanse may not appeal to you. In some ways it doesn’t appeal to me either. I’ve never wanted to be an astronaut or an Arctic explorer or any number of adventurous career options because of the requirement to be alone, or nearly alone, away from the people you love, for long periods of time. I am an extroverted person and I don’t think I would cope well with those situations. 

My husband and I recently jumped on the bandwagon of watching Project Hail Mary  (I definitely recommend it! Beware minor spoiler alerts ahead!). It is a movie about a space mission to save the sun, centred around the conflicted and ultimately very likeable main character, Grace. In one of the scenes we see Grace, alone in his spaceship, having woken from an induced coma, staring out the window into the vast, endless stars. It is an experience of being alone in the expanse; but a terrifying one. Those stars represent a complete lack of access to Earth; a tyranny of distance that is impossible for him to overcome. I have no desire to ever be in that position! 

Elsewhere in the film though, there are other experiences of that same expanse which invoke a different response; that of awe. There is an image of our astronaut Grace, vulnerable while out of his spaceship, surveying the green gas clouds of a beautiful planet named Tau Ceti-E. The view changes and we see him bathed in an ethereal red light. In the plot line Tau Ceti-E may hold the answer for saving life on planet earth; but in this moment of the movie even that lofty goal is eclipsed by the stunning beauty and incredible expanse of space. Grace closes his eyes and does a backflip in response to it. “What is Grace doing?” his friend asks. “Having a moment” he replies.

***

Back to earth. The idea of being alone permanently in the expanse may be terrifying, but there is something deeply good, I think, in experiencing being alone before the expanse sometimes. And this is one of the things that I can do when I visit the family farm. As a child growing up I used to slink out of the house, making sure no one saw me, simply to go for a walk by myself. Along the bush track surrounded by the native trees, or along the farm roads and looking out across the paddocks. I craved that feeling of being just me; of there not being any chance at all of someone intruding on my thoughts. Pure space to think, to pray, to write and reflect. To enjoy the creation around me and recognise my own smallness in it. 

So many years later, no longer a child, I went for one of those walks on my most recent visit. No children, no phone, no one else at all. It was July in Dallwallinu and the canola crops were magic; the happiest yellow gold joyously covering the fields. As you walk and gaze out to see endless crops and trees as far as you can see you cannot help but realise your own smallness. I can see much further than I can possibly walk in the period that I have. Yet the beauty of it makes me so grateful to be part of this world God has made. 

***

Back to the stars. Except this time it is me looking up into them rather than our astronaut friend, looking out from among them. Truly, you cannot compare the stars you see from the backyard in the city to the stars I see in Dalwallinu. 

One of the reasons for this last visit here was my sister-in-law’s bonfire birthday party. As it turned to night, there was perhaps a 100m walk across the gravel from the house down to the bonfire. I would have taken that walk maybe ten times as I went to check on the sleeping baby up at the house.  Each walk gave me time to look up; alone for a just a minute or two, gazing at the thousands of stars above me. Count the stars – if indeed you can count them – God says to Abram in Genesis. In my backyard in Perth maybe I could. But here in the Wheatbelt I am overwhelmed; the stars are far too many. That they represent giant suns so many billions and millions of miles away just adds to the awe. And here I am; a tiny person. Alone before the vastness of the expanse. 

***

So what is it about that experience that is so good? 

Before the expanse you cannot help but acknowledge the reality of who you are. Whatever else I may achieve, whatever admirable goals I have and good things that I do; in the vastness of the expanse I am small. I am small. That is not a bad reality. It is reality. And I need to know it, and be reminded of it because so often I truly believe that I am big. That my priorities are the most important priorities. 

Yet I get to know Someone who is big. Facing the expanse of creation pushes me, has always pushed me, to see the expanse of the One who made it all. I did not make the golden fields of canola or the countless incredible stars. But I know who did. Being alone in the face of the expanse reorients me to give glory to God who truly deserves it. Whose bigness is so big. 

Staring at the stars I remember that this God loves me. I do not need to cave in at my own smallness; instead I can rejoice in being loved, and made to know and to serve the great God who made all this. I am not – as Seth Lewis says in his excellent book Dream Small – the main character in the story. God is. Yet this God graciously includes me in the storyline; I have a real role to play because the maker of the stars has ordained it to be.

***

In short, contemplating the expanse helps me to sing with David:

When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, 

The moon and the stars which you have set in place,

What is mankind that you are mindful of them?

Human beings that you care for them?

You have made them a little lower than the angels, and crowned them with glory and honour. …

LORD, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!

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Rhianon Rae—Regular Contributor

Rhianon is married to Sam and spends much of her time loving and looking after their four children. In God’s kindness, she first heard the gospel from her parents, and has since trained in Christian ministry with the UWA Christian Union and Trinity Theological College. In this season, she enjoys leading a Bible study, coffee dates with friends, watching cricket, and dreaming of the day she can play netball again.