The spirit of every human is like a kite which rises by means of those very forces which seem to oppose its rise; the tie that joins it to earth, the opposing winds of temptation and the load of earth-born affections which it carries with it into the sky. ~ English poet Coventry Patmore (1823-1896)
At 38,000 feet, the world becomes a peaceful wash of color and light. Small things disappear into a great impressionist canvas. I look out the window and long to dance on the clouds. That longing lives deep in my heart – to soar ever-so-gently above the harsh reality of reality and find my home in grace-soaked liberty.
And I know I share that longing with you. No matter our background, no matter our condition. We hunger to hold hands and let His grace consume us in freedom. We know there is a higher place. We believe in the brush of angel wings. We want to fly.
There you are, rising above the Mayan land – your arms like doves. You are printed in the pages of a calendar, but you transport me. You, with sandals falling gently to earth and dog barking a sweet farewell. In silence, I can hear the gentle sound of your flight. Your freedom invites me to be fearless. We are connected.
The kites fly effortlessly in the afternoon sky. The sound of laughter fills the air as you hold the cords that hold the color that dances against the blue. The kites are more than a fun diversion. They tell a story of our hearts. Though our lives are separated by miles and cultures, we are both orphans. We are both family. We are connected.
The music plays as tiny dancers parade down the flagstone street. You are one of many, holding your mother’s hand as you carefully step in time with all the other little angels. But your wings whisper – they say “if I could, I would…” You wouldn’t let go of that hand as your feet stopped touching the ground – your steps reordered by the newfound beautiful hush. You would carry that love with you, and share it with me to remind me that I am loved too. We are connected.
In a tiny one-room shanty tucked into an alleyway like lint in a poor man’s pocket, you learn of the surgery that will allow you to see again. You raise your hands to the Heavens as you embrace the God who cares for you tenderly. You feel your soul rise from the depths of the pain and take flight on the wings of the One who offers hope. Your hope becomes my hope. We are connected.
I pray today to not be fettered, to take the flight of divine freedom, love, and hope. I pray today to hold the hands of those who long to fly too.
I need more wind in my hair. ~ Courtney (best friend and fellow flyer)