Longing to Fly

I pick up my week’s worth of veggies from the barn and begin to drive my car slowly down the farm’s stony driveway.

 

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                         Photo from stock.xchng

 

I don’t see them as I approach. But before I get close enough, they rise—a flock of pretty little birds, flying gracefully together, with bits of light and song upon their wings, against a summer-blue sky.

 

This picture lingers in my mind for the following week. I am realizing that I need to trust God on a deeper level than I do. I am contemplating grace and how little I truly understand it. I see how much I keep  my nose at the grindstone, always trying to be righteous.

 

Trust and grace—a greater degree of both would yield a greater measure of freedom in my heart. Maybe even give me the ability to fly.

 

In the course of my studies, I read this verse: “I run in the path of your commands, for you have set my heart free” (Psalm 119:32, NIV).

 

Commandments and freedom. Law and grace. Obedience and forgiveness.

 

For most of my life, I’ve missed the paradox, the mystery. Ah, there it is, once again—the mystery. God, always past my complete understanding, but always ready to be known. Ready to reveal His ways. In them is the gentle safety of trusting obedience. In them is the freedom of a grace deeply broad but not flaunting.

 

I have more to understand. More to study. More to apply.

 

In the meantime, I’m looking away from that grindstone and looking up, wondering what it would be like to fly.

 

 

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