Sunday, September 23, 2012

Sandy Feet

Seems I've been hanging out in the sand lately.  Scratchy, grainy, cactus infested sand.  When it gets in your shoes it can cause painful blistering . . . an irritating agitation every time you walk.  My niece is burying her youngest son this week, a baby of only 20 weeks gestation.  You would think it would prompt me to speak something kind, tender, or even to remain silent in sympathetic empathy.  Instead I misunderstood, assumed, and lashed out with my words like a bulldozer plowing ahead leaving prickles in my wake.  Must I always be like sandpaper in people's lives?  It is a miserable life.

Yesterday my family and I went to the desert to watch the airshow.  It's free, it's fun, and in some ways an even better seat than within the gates of the airport.  We drive out with our four wheel drive in gear and join countless others doing the same thing.  There's a sense of comradery with total strangers because we are here for one purpose . . . to watch the blue angels fly. 

Kids mess around in the dirt, dust blows when yet another vehicle arrives joining our ranks, and adults chit chat with one another.  But when those blue angels fly, all else stops while eyes look upward and outward.  Such power, precision, and wonder is rare.  Us common folk, we watch with awe . . . amazed, thrilled, and proud that these jets are on our side. 

My niece is like an eagle, flying the skies, undaunted by the gravity pulling against her.  This is not the first son she has buried.  The rest of us are hushed, thinking we would crumple under such pressure.  We know it is the presence of God within her, upholding her that gives her strength.  We watch and the sand of the desert is forgotten momentarily.  How we long to fly!  But lately I've felt it has been rather impossible.  The reality of my guilt keeps me grounded in burning sand. 

I spoke of false guilt in my last post.  This time I speak of real guilt.  I'm seeking to get it right, to have a clean slate.  I want to start over.  Maybe there is still hope that I might take to the skies.  I have to admit that last night I felt low, broken, and wondered why God keeps me on this earth if I'm only sand in the eyes of others. 

But then this morning my pastor gave an illustration about ducks.  I was reminded that it is possible to fly.  Yes, this duck can fly.  I can even be an eagle.  So what am I doing waddling through sand?  It's time to give what I have, no matter how small it might be, and God sized power will project me forward to the heights of heaven.


1 comment:

  1. Thanks, Jewel. It's one of the things I love about you - a willingness to get things right no matter what it costs. I appreciate your blog, dear sister.