Swinging

I built a swing for my grandchildren and me. I designed it to rise nine feet above the ground so the arc of the chains would be wide and once in full swing, you'd feel akin to airborne. The kids love it and so do I. Sometimes, in the early mornings, after watering my flowers, I settle into the sling-seat (unfortunately a somewhat snug fit) and push off. It takes stomach muscles for this, muscles I don't really call on much anymore. Awakened, these muscles complain a little and fight back with a tingling sensation. It makes me laugh. There I am, a grandmother hooting and howling, swinging high as possible alone in my back yard. The neighbors must wonder.

But here's the truth, I don't really care what they think; I swing because I have always loved to swing and it keeps me thinking young thoughts, if that's crazy, so be it. When I was six, my parents installed in our yard a tall park-type set with big wooden seats because I was sad about my older sister marrying and leaving home. For the next six years, I spent long, happy hours in that spot. I entertained myself, singing and inventing stories and generally pretending away many a warm Texas afternoon. But most of all, I talked to God there. I guess you could call it prayer, I mostly thought of it as personal conversations. I also studied the clouds as I pumped and pumped, forever striving for record height, maybe even flight. Clouds fascinated me. I promised God that if He would only allow me one hour in the clouds, soaring, I would never tell anyone. I wanted to be in the clouds; at age six, swinging seemed to be my closest option.

Recently, returning home from vacation, I leaned over Ron, who always prefers the window seat, to watch our descent into Hartsfield Airport. Massive white sculptures moved steadily past us, some in the distance, some so close the wings sliced through, disturbing and rearranging them. We were definitely in the clouds, but the feeling was better described that we were among them. I've done this before, many times, in fact. But suddenly, this time, I remembered my childhood prayers about flying in the clouds. Drum roll, please, or was it thunder? I smiled at God's great sense of humor and Ron, who is accustomed to me by now, just smiled back without bothering to ask what was so funny. I know God was smiling too, because after all these years, and flights in the clouds, I finally got it.

You see, I know He always answers prayers and I've learned, at last, that rarely does He answer as we expect or in the time frame we think we require. For me it is enough to know that regardless of our puny, narrow, human point-of-view, not to mention impatience, the answer will be timely and precisely right for us even if the answer is no, or not now. The problem is we can't see the big picture from where we are standing.
I guess I'm breaking my original promise by revealing this but I don't think He minds in this case. Deep in thought while swinging, of course, it dawned on me that forty-five years ago He knew I'd tell you about this, so you would be comforted and understand.
Wow!