When you fly on the wings of the Spirit
For two hours and more, we’ve driven from our sleepy, little town to the bustling metropolis, which boasts an international hub. Dashing in to the bus through bitter cold and snow, we drive through the dark to the train that will take us, at last, to the terminal.
And now, we find ourselves nestled into our seats, tucked cheek by jowl on the plane. Mister’s beside me, stuck square in the middle, and I’m thrilled, like a kid, to have nailed a window. The engines begin to whir, my seat’s now in motion, and the ground down below starts to move.
Slowly at first, then faster and faster. Then, at once, a thrust. A mighty surge of power as the nose of the plane starts to rise. I’m riveted, watching out my window, as the earth beneath falls away.
And then we’re up. Airborne. Faces raised to sky as the mighty bird takes us higher. Out my window, the ground’s disappeared. Homes and buildings. Trees and highways have dropped away, and all I can see now is the sky. The sky, and one mighty wing stretching on and on, out from my seat.
It was my husband, in the end, who’d booked the flight. After much discussion and talk about schedules and dates and children and coverage, we’d made our choice, and he’d locked it in. Knowing there was no time to drive, we’d decided to fly, and he’d researched and made the best choice.
“We’re flying with Spirit,” he’d announced one night when he came home from work. “Spirit Airlines.”
Now on this Wednesday, I’m looking through the glass as we climb and keep climbing. We’re headed to Florida, two snowbirds from the vortex, borne on the wings of a plane. Flying with Spirit, taking the sky, resting full weight on another.
The pilot banks left, and all I see now is wing. Sitting there, I feel it; utter helplessness. For we’ve cast our lot fully with those who are flying. Our pilots, and the stability of their plane.
Then it comes, Gentle Voice. “Isn’t this how to live? You, small there, casting your lot, then resting secure in your place? Just trusting it all and offering it up and letting Me take you on wings? On My wings…”
A lump rises high, squeezes in tight. I feel it; the thrust and that power. It’s a picture of the Kingdom, this plane, that sky, and how He makes us to rise on the heights.
We’re cruising now. Pilot’s brought it down straight. Flying level and high, I look out through glass. And see the sun.
The sun’s brilliant above with storm clouds beneath. We’re flying, free, high over clouds. And once more comes the whisper: “I am able, full able to guide you through storm times. You are so very safe in my hands. With Me, all is possible. With Me, you can fly. Fly high. Fly free. Fly with joy!”
What a blessed, blessed life we can live, we children of God who’ve been signed, sealed, chosen, adopted. We can do what’s impossible. We are safe in His care when we’re borne on the wings of His Spirit.