Yellow.

Gary Stevenson
Nov 3
3 min read

Updated: Nov 4

Every year, near the end of October, I take an annual motorcycle trip with my friends to a remote cabin on Nicola Lake in Merritt, BC. This year we arrived after dark. When I stepped out of the truck and looked up, I was stunned by what I saw — the Milky Way stretched directly above us, and the golden-yellow stars shone so brightly that I could see the lake shimmering in the distance.

At that moment, Coldplay’s song “Yellow” came to mind. As I listened to it, I was struck by the profound theological connections — which is a little surprising, since Coldplay is not a Christian band. Chris Martin, the lead singer and author of the song refers to himself as an “All-Theist.”

However, there’s something profoundly theological hidden in Yellow — a song that begins with a simple invitation:

“Look at the stars, Look how they shine for you.”

In the night sky, the stars have long been the language of divine affection. The Psalmist once wrote, “The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of His hands” (Psalm 19:1). Every point of light across the cosmos is a radiant echo of the Creator’s delight — not just in the grandeur of galaxies, but in the particularity of you.

In Yellow, the singer’s devotion radiates through words of sacrifice and awe:

“I swam across, I jumped across for you… For you I’d bleed myself dry.”

These lyrics, though romantic on the surface, mirror the deeper story woven into the Gospel — the God who crossed the infinite distance between heaven and earth, entering into creation, light into darkness, love incarnate. Christ becomes the living embodiment of divine affection — the God who not only “looked at the stars” but made them, then stepped beneath their light to redeem the world He loves.

To see creation through this lens is to realize that it shines for you. Every photon, every burst of light across the cosmic canvas, is a love letter — God’s eternal “I see you, I made this for you.” The universe isn’t cold or indifferent; it’s illuminated by the warmth of divine intentionality.

And when Coldplay sings,“Your skin and bones turn into something beautiful,” we are reminded of the resurrection promise: that even what is fragile, finite, and fallen is being transformed. In Christ, even star dust becomes radiant. The ordinary becomes sacramental.

To live aware of this is to live in awe — to walk beneath a sky shimmering with divine affection, knowing that love itself is the light that holds everything together.

“It was all yellow” — not a color of caution or decay, but of gold, of glory, of God’s radiant love burning bright in every created thing.

🌠 Illuminating Flavor Through Wonder

People often ask me where my ideas for new Theo’s Feast dishes come from. The truth is, they almost always begin with a moment of wonder — a glimpse of God’s glory that stirs something in me. A moment where God reveals something new, something tangible to me.

That night under the Milky Way at Nicola Lake was one of those moments. Standing beneath the golden stars, I felt God’s presence in the beauty of creation — and Coldplay’s “Yellow” suddenly became more than a song. It became an invitation.

This reflection has planted a seed — the beginning of a new course for my Finely Tuned Ramen. I don’t know what it will look like or taste like yet, but I sense it will somehow communicate God’s glory through the stars and the color yellow.

So this is where the creative journey begins: in prayer, reflection, and play. I’m starting by asking God for inspiration, exploring ingredients that capture the warmth and radiance of starlight, and documenting the process as the idea takes shape.

I’d love to take you along for the ride — to share the behind-the-scenes R&D journey of how a Theo’s Feast dish is born: from spark to story, from flavor to faith.

Stay tuned for updates as this new creation unfolds — one prayer, one experiment, and one taste of glory at a time.