Soaring

The Columbia River Gorge spread out below me.  The gentle hills that lined this wide waterway, aptly nicknamed Big River, were painted in shades from an artist’s color wheel: Raw Sienna; Green-Gold; Viridian; Leaf Green. The blue skies mirrored the glittering water below with another array of colors: Cobalt; indigo; Cerulean. This landscape could not be truly captured with paper, paint and brush; it was painted with Nature’s hand.

Looking across the wide expanse, I could see the narrow highway on the Washington shore that mirrored the Oregon road I was travelling.  This giant of a river that cuts through the Northwestern US is too big to be described as meandering, but that is what I was doing, driving westward with no particular agenda after my intense week of work in Portland.  My hands gradually relaxed on the steering wheel, and my soul did too as I traded the cacophony of colleagues’ voices for the soothing hum of the rent car’s engine. I was weary, so weary, with that tiredness that seeps down to the bone. My mental exhaustion stemmed from a non-stop schedule of brain-storming sessions, board meetings, presentations, and writing. Evenings were spent online, marking students’ papers.  My work calendar was already spilling over with upcoming meetings and deadlines, and as I thought about what lay in store, I could feel pressure mounting. My jaws clenched. For those two days, I sought a place of quiet where I could wait for peace to infuse my soul. A secluded retreat seemed the answer to counteract the overwhelming amount of work that still loomed ahead.  It was not only my body and mind that were tired.  My soul was weary, so weary.

As I descended from the mountain overlook, tiny dots of color appeared as if by magic: Scarlet; Cadmium Orange; Lemon Yellow.  About half-way down the hillside, I began to make out the source of this bright beauty.   One, two, six, no, a dozen small parasails complete with arms wrapped around harnesses and human legs dangling swooped, glided and soared through the gorge just above the river’s surface. It was as if a kaleidoscope of giant butterflies were hovering just above the water. I pulled over onto a roadside park and watched the bright ballet. Now that I had stopped there was more to see. Many others were windsurfing and kiteboarding with wind-filled kites that pulled them across and along the river. From that viewpoint, I could see the river was not as smooth and serene as it first appeared. A calm day would have grounded those outdoor aerialists.  The strong winds that whistle through the Gorge are perfect for parasailing, kite boarding, and windsurfing.  Close up, I saw the choppy water and I clutched my jacket tighter against the cool gusts.  Enthusiasts for these Catching Air sports describe them as exciting and exhilarating adrenaline-pumping experiences. Safely anchored to the shore, I felt an energetic peace seep into my battered soul as these human butterflies arced across the sky.

I watched the colorful, crisscrossing patterns and I, who made my living crafting words, needed none. The setting itself became a prayer of refreshment and renewal.  My tightly wound spirit unfurled.  The ever-present wind increased, and the river-based kites billowed out and sped down the river.  Those kites were more like strong eagles than fragile butterflies. I could feel the wind of God’s spirit surging through my mind, clearing out the anxieties of the past week and pushing the worries of next week farther out.  I could not truly wait for a serene and smooth future to glide into my picture.  Life was choppy and I carried many burdens. God’s Presence was here in my blustery and turbulent life. The refreshment that I craved emerged not from a secluded retreat, but from the windy Columbia River Gorge.  I wouldn’t be spending my days meandering by a tranquil stream, but peace was not always found in such places. I did need to wait for restoration, but not in the way I envisioned. Renewal could be found in the midst of one, two, six, no, a dozen things that would appear before long. I decided to join the wind instead of fight it or wait for it to die down. Soaring doesn’t happen above tranquil waters.

 In my prayerful retreat-of-the-soul, I chose a bright kite- a scarlet one- and grabbed tightly onto the harness. My legs dangled, unsupported and exposed. For a moment, I was scared and overwhelmed. I looked with envy at the shoreline and the soft green and gold grasses there. Surely that was a safer place to be. I waited just a second, and my jaws unclenched. Trust expanded. The Wind of the Spirit caught my own. Faith rose up. Strength returned. Weariness fell away. My spirit soared.

He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.  They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary; they will walk and not be faint.  Isaiah 40: 29-31

The beauty of art and the power of words can transport us to places we will never see, inviting us into new territory.  These bright balloons of Scarlet, Lemon Yellow, and Viridian soar through skies of Cobalt, Indigo, and Cerulean. You can almost feel the energy of the wind pushing them out towards the edge of the tile. 

The beloved scripture of today’s entry describes God’s presence with us in our active lives: as we fly, run and walk. What experiences make your spirit soar?  How does your faith energize you and turn weariness into strength?