I feel the cool breeze as I sail through the air. It's amazing. I fly. I career. I sail. I am euphoric. The early morning sun shines brightly. It's too early in the day for its heat to overbear. Instead, the sun offers the perfect balance of warmth to the crispness of a new day. It colors the sky with pink, purple, and shades of blue. The clouds smear across it like cotton candy across a child's face. Below me, the newly mowed grass smells strongly of summer days.
This is what I was made for. This freedom. This abandon. This liberty. This emancipation.
To sit, hour after hour, in a confined space. To exist through a span of days without this experience. For life to fly by me when I should be sailing through the middle of it - soaring through the middle of it - is a pitiful existence. Painful. Remorseful. Depressing.
True, I've seen better days. I'm not all that I used to be. My skin isn't smooth or blemish-free as once it was. The sun has taken its toll on me. Life has taken its toll on me. I have the expected markings of age - the markings of my years. I prefer this to the alternative though - to having spent my life on a shelf; to be of an age when my contemporaries are well-lived, well-worn and to find myself preening and splaying my youthful beauty? No, this is by far a better choice. My imperfections only serve to prove my life has been full.
I smile as these thoughts glide through my mind. I begin my descent. I brace myself for what I know will come. I squeeze my eyes shut. I grimace. This is the hard part. I wait for it. . . wait for it . . .
Whomp. My head rattles just a bit from the sudden stop. In a rush, I let out my breath. The worst is over. I open my eyes, and I'm grateful: He caught me face up. I squint at the sun and hear a voice from across the field.
"Good boy, Morgan! Good boy! Bring it hear! Come on!"
I smile because I know that soon I will once again soar. I will once again feel the ecstasy of doing exactly that for which I was created.
Is there anything this side of eternity that can even compare?
This is what I was made for. This freedom. This abandon. This liberty. This emancipation.
To sit, hour after hour, in a confined space. To exist through a span of days without this experience. For life to fly by me when I should be sailing through the middle of it - soaring through the middle of it - is a pitiful existence. Painful. Remorseful. Depressing.
True, I've seen better days. I'm not all that I used to be. My skin isn't smooth or blemish-free as once it was. The sun has taken its toll on me. Life has taken its toll on me. I have the expected markings of age - the markings of my years. I prefer this to the alternative though - to having spent my life on a shelf; to be of an age when my contemporaries are well-lived, well-worn and to find myself preening and splaying my youthful beauty? No, this is by far a better choice. My imperfections only serve to prove my life has been full.
I smile as these thoughts glide through my mind. I begin my descent. I brace myself for what I know will come. I squeeze my eyes shut. I grimace. This is the hard part. I wait for it. . . wait for it . . .
Whomp. My head rattles just a bit from the sudden stop. In a rush, I let out my breath. The worst is over. I open my eyes, and I'm grateful: He caught me face up. I squint at the sun and hear a voice from across the field.
"Good boy, Morgan! Good boy! Bring it hear! Come on!"
I smile because I know that soon I will once again soar. I will once again feel the ecstasy of doing exactly that for which I was created.
Is there anything this side of eternity that can even compare?
Didn't know career could be used that way! Learned something new today :-) Are you a frisbee?
ReplyDeleteI'm always happy when He catches me face-up too! Eye-to-eye, heart-to-heart, even if my knees are all skinned, He has me.
ReplyDeletecatching up on your blog, lori. i love this entry. thank you!
ReplyDeleteCan you do one for ....... say a dish rag?
ReplyDelete