How Dust Dwellers Can Soar

We had packed a picnic and settled into the green grass, our eyes glued to the blue above.

The sun began to sink slow, the lake swallowing its orange shadows like a beggar consuming a Thanksgiving feast.

The air hung hot and heavy. Children grew restless.

Are you sure we can see them from here? my little ones ask.


I scanned the horizon, checked my watch, wondered if the balloons had failed to launch.

I packed the empty cooler back into the van and tried to decide if we should linger longer or just drive home and begin the bedtime routine.

Then a burst of yellow sprung above the tree line.

And my decision was sealed.

Children squealed.

Grown-ups stood.

My littlest one clung to my knees uncertain of whether to cry or clap at the awesome sight.

We craned our necks and marveled, watched the sky transform into a polka-dot party of color.

The kids scrambled for a closer look, raced to higher ground and waved their hands in wonder.
I  joined the children on the hillside and savored their giddy glee.

A balloon dropped low. The silhouette inside the basket turned into a chiseled face. A toothy smile.

The kids jumped up and down.  Screamed hello. Asked the flyer where he was going.

Josh reached for the swaying basket as if he could lasso the whole thing and soar along.

The balloonist laughed and waved as the sizzle of flames took him higher and higher.

Josh stomped his foot, annoyed to be still standing on the ground.

I thought of that motley crew of believers anointed by flames and remembered how the Spirit’s heat had caused them to soar, too.

I pictured those tongues of fire that had caused the humble to rise, the flames that had lifted the cowards to courage.

Had they been afraid? Those dust dwellers who dared to fly? 


Did they know where they would land? Have any idea to what heights they would soar? To what depths they would dip? 

While her brother searched for higher ground, she shuffled to my side, her blue eyes following the spin of stripes hovering high over the dusky waters.

Where is he going? she asked, carefully lacing her warm fingers through mine.

Wherever the wind takes him, I replied with a smile.

But where will he land? she persisted, her brow furrowed with concern.

I don’t know. 

Does HE know? 

I’m not sure.

We watched the dangling basket disappearing until it was a tiny dot in the sky.

I’d be afraid to even get in, my middle child admitted.

I nodded, understanding this sweet one at my side.

I, too, have lived afraid of where the Spirit-wind might take me.

I, too, have fought to keep my feet on the ground where I knew the terrain and could calculate the next step with caution.

Countless times I’ve clung to the crags of this world rather than surrendering to the fire of faith.

But as I hold my daughter’s hand and watch those balloons waltz with the twilight; 
as I remember those first followers and how they soared despite themselves, 
I wonder why.

Why have I dug my nails in the dirt and demanded to know my next step.

Why have I prayed for sturdy ground beneath my feet rather than begging for the courage to dance across the clouds? 

What if I said yes? 
Yes to soaring without seeing.
Yes to the flames that lift me from the dust.
Yes to a wind-swept life.

“You know well enough how the wind blows this way and that. You hear it rustling through the trees, but you have no idea where it comes from or where it’s headed next. That’s the way it is with everyone ‘born from above’ by the wind of God, the Spirit of God.” John 3:7-8

My phone rings once more.


Rob’s excited voice cries,
“You won’t believe this. There’s a balloon landing right in our front yard!”


A sound like a mighty wind drowns out our connection and I spin into action.


I grab the kids and we race for the van, veer around the lake and head back up the hill that leads home. 

Suddenly I see it as clearly as the laughing children racing across my yard in pursuit of yet another balloon. 


I can say yes to the journey because He’s already told me where I’ll land.


Jesus is preparing a place for us. 
Right in His front yard.


When we surrender to the wind, the Spirit will always blow us Home.

 

The Overflow: You’re all I want in heaven! You’re all I want on earth! When my skin sags and my bones get brittle, God is rock-firm and faithful. Look! Those who left you are falling apart! Deserters, they’ll never be heard from again. But I’m in the very presence of God— oh, how refreshing it is! I’ve made Lord God my home. Psalm 73:25-28


Sharing in community with Jennifer at Getting Down With Jesus and with jen for soli deo gloria