In the middle of November, my sister and I flew to St. Louis to attend a conference for those who are discerning whether their calling includes ordination within the United Methodist Church. It was an excellent conference, and came at a time when I was particularly struggling and wrestling with what my calling might be. That mysterious thing that nags and whispers and for which you have to find answers.
I've since been mulling over things that were said, or thoughts that came to me there.
But one of the highlights of the trip for me was the flying.
I love to fly.
I like takeoff, when the wheels are keeping me to earth and then suddenly, there's the lift and the earth falls away beneath me and I rise and rise and rise.
I like ascending. I like to look around me and watch the clouds. Flat on the bottom, puffy on top, with sun glittering and making it all seem like a marshmallow ocean.
I like everything suddenly coming into perspective, the little houses and neighborhoods suddenly making sense, and the roads and towns all become a real map spread below. No names or lines to distinguish things, just the big picture beneath me.
All the things that are usually big, suddenly made small, because I can see everything.
I like that. Big things made small because I can see everything.
One day, I will see everything that happens in the aventura de la vida and all the big things will be small. One day, things will make sense. I will be flying.
For now, I am still on the ground, wheels turning, keeping me here. But there is that hope that one day, one day I will see it all beneath me. And clouds, spread out around me like a marshmallow ocean, the Son glittering over it all.