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Talons gripping the crag’s edge, the eagle gazes across miles of sheer rock face. Treetops and low clouds obscure the stream on the floor below. He attunes each feather to the wind’s whisper. When the call embraces his pinions just so, he leaps. Not a trial step or tentative wiggle of his pinky toe, but a headlong dive over the ravine. Sunlight meets a twinkle in his fearless eyes. The wind catches his wings and buoys him aloft. Proving the substance of his confidence. As it had done before.

I teeter at the edge of a windy ravine when

  • a challenge demands training and experience I don’t have
  • resources shrink
  • crises overwhelm me
  • a calling requires more time than I can spare
  • Inefficacy hobbles my dreams

Have you been there with me?

My toenails grip the precipice until its chalky edge crumbles. I cry out to the Lord, “I can’t do this!”

He knows I can’t deal with this on my own.

Of course He knows. So, I might ask, “Why did you let me get into this situation?”

I cannot discern an answer, but the wind seems to beckon me. Not into an argument, but a leap. Will I abandon my futile grip, my intent to figure it out, my delusion of control? Dive into the divine embrace and trust Him to bear me up?

The option to back away from faith looms in my shadow. Ahead, immense depth gapes with nothing to uphold me but the power of an invisible force. And the wings He crafted for me. Oh, yes, how could I forget? He and I have done this before.

When my strength and resources fell short, He showed up. Every time I asked. Every time I stepped out in faith to answer His call. That updraft always proves stronger than the gravity of my life.

I find myself pausing to ask why less often. Without glancing back, I shout into the gale, “It’s all up to You!” I squint and leap into the majestic rush. Wings spread in faith, I soar along the sun-spangled drafts I’d never witness on my own power.

Thank You, Lord, for opportunities to strengthen my faith and empowering a thrilling flight.

 

“Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see” (Hebrews 11:1).

 “I am he, I am he who will sustain you.
I have made you and I will carry you;
    I will sustain you and I will rescue you” (Isaiah 46:4).

Because you are my help,
    I sing in the shadow of your wings.
 I cling to you;
    your right hand upholds me” (Psalm 63:7-8).

 

Ruach gusted from the Creator’s lips into soulless forms on the earth. Life billowed into flesh and gave significance to the carcasses. Darkness shattered the perfection of Eden. Creation turned from its direct connection to Pure Lifebreath and distracted itself in a clamor to gasp for its own survival. The earth staggered and suffered in its putrid marshes of paganism and humanism while a remnant lifted their heads for the lilt of the Father’s breeze. After salvation dawned upon the world, new life rushed into a cloistered group of terrified disciples. Pneuma, as their language described it, set their breath ablaze with the advent of the Holy Spirit among believers. Revival whooshed across continents with unceasing demand.

An ongoing need to inhale fresh Spiritbreath persists. The breath of God alone begets life. Without His wind in our souls, we deflate to a gasping existence on dead calm seas.

We all need refreshment. In this stale pit of tragedy and confusion, our shoulders sag after so many miles of care. The norm can easily fade to drear and our words begin to lack flavor. Without a gust of divine breath, we suffocate in the dismal valley. We must seek His presence continually, and ask Him for renewal.

Florida’s sticky heat clutches at my chest as a constant reminder of my own Pneuma dependence. Our tropical summer waxed on for an extra month. The peak of hurricane season had passed, but the rains continued to pelt us. Nineteen inches drenched our September lawn. Temperatures wavered between eighty-eight and ninety-three, but steam hung in the air long after dusk. I attempted a prayerful walk around my neighborhood one evening. After less than a mile, I fought for breath.

Focus on circumstances had recently mired my soul in the doldrums and I struggled to keep moving in the work before me. Hot, sticky despair daunted my steps. Gloomy skies stretched beyond their due season. I pleaded for breath. I searched the heavens for a gust of Spirit to raise my flattened soul. And when I asked, ever faithful God demonstrated His goodness and breathed Pneuma into my spirit. Much like a gust of fresh, autumn-like air.

This weekend’s front gusted away the humid doldrums with a cool, refreshing wind. I snatched a sleeved blouse from the closet and leapt outside. Grins bloomed across the landscape–in passing cars, along the sidewalks, and throughout church. We held Sunday school outdoors to celebrate the occasion. Sighs floated on the breeze with contented remarks such as, “It’s so nice.”

I rolled back my sagging shoulders and drew in long drafts of rare autumn. Blues saturated the heavens, where the birds soared and dove to immerse themselves in fresh air.  I closed my eyes to offer prayers of gratitude. How magnificent is the Lord, revealing His creative glory in a breath of wind! Thank You, Father, for much-needed refreshment .

The temperatures will rise again mid-week. Humidity lurks in the near forecast, too. When the tropics settle over me, I can now face each day with the energy of revived breath. Pneuma alone renews the spirit. Thank You, Father, for a gust of Ruach to refresh my stagnant soul each time I ask.

How long will you gasp before calling for the LifeGiver to breathe refreshment into your soul?

 

“Send your Spirit, they are created, and you renew the face of the ground.” Psalm 104:30

“Create in me a pure heart, O God,
    and renew a steadfast spirit within me.” Psalm 51:10
“Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.” Romans 12:2
He sends his command to the earth;
    his word runs swiftly…
 He sends his word and melts them;
    he stirs up his breezes, and the waters flow.” Psalm 147:15, 18

A tremor seized the floor. Mary tumbled onto the cool, gritty surface. She flattened her arms out to either side as the quake rattled up the walls. The ceiling heaved as if it might cave in on their heads. She hugged her knees and studied her friends’ gaping faces. Wide eyes glistened back at her.

A gale-force voice swept through the room and whooshed over Mary’s skin. Her hair snapped like a storm-battered flag behind her. The lanterns fell dark. Her skin prickled, as a strange current intensified throughout the inky space. Questions pried her lips ajar, but she did not speak them. Before sound moved past her throat, a throng of suspended flames pierced the darkness.

Shaped like human tongues, fiery wisps appeared over each head. Mary craned her head to study the blaze poised inched above her. Just as she recognized her dry mouth hung open, the flame dove inside. It flashed like a shooting star down her gullet, burning its way into her core. Mary marveled first at the absence of pain, but grew more awed each moment by the sensations that took its place. Warmth penetrated from her center outward with greater intensity than midsummer rays. The flames soothed her flesh and energized her spirit until the hairs on her ear lobes and toes tingled.

Heat surged upward and ignited her breath. Mary sprang to the door and burst into the streets alongside her friends. She curled her tongue around a scintillating new language as the Lord’s story blazed from her mouth. Strangers froze mid-stride and listened. Foreigners gathered and clogged the sidewalks and roads.

A deep hunger surfaced in the hearts of those who listened. Women clutched at Mary’s sleeves. Dozens clamored to get closer, like a throng of souls who had been starved for ages. The initial amazement with fire-breathing and comprehending other languages faded. Something far more wonderful overcame it.

She had made them understand. 

Mary’s fire-breath taught about Christ in such a way that it kindled a desire to know Him.

The Spirit’s power made her work effective in ways she couldn’t. Not with her plans, talents, or efforts. So the Spirit works through His people today. In the work God sets before hands, feet, or mouth, may He set each breath on fire.

 

“When the day of Pentecost came, they were all together in one place.  Suddenly a sound like the blowing of a violent wind came from heaven and filled the whole house where they were sitting.  They saw what seemed to be tongues of fire that separated and came to rest on each of them.  All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other tongues as the Spirit enabled them. Now there were staying in Jerusalem God-fearing Jews from every nation under heaven.  When they heard this sound, a crowd came together in bewilderment, because each one heard their own language being spoken…Those who accepted his message were baptized, and about three thousand were added to their number that day.” (Acts 2:1-6, 41)

Vivid panels twist and swoop, as two-dimensional figments come alive in the skies. A matching tail streams behind each one. Kites mesmerize me. I imagine myself riding the air beside them, as if I were meant to glide on the windwaves.

Perhaps I am. Perhaps we all are.

Grounded kites offer little entertainment and less inspiration. Laid on the flat, common places of the world, it cannot draw eyes to the summit of possibilities. It needs breath to raise it above its own potential. The unseen wind’s power lifts the kite to represent dreams beyond the flat, common places we live upon. By aligning with the wind, the kite reveals there is more to life than what we see on earth.

I want to be a kite.

I yearn to align so fluidly with the Spirit that its breath lifts me beyond my own potential to a height that illuminates God’s power. 

How about you? If you ever dreamed of gliding above the world, plan to catch the Spirit waves and rise to divine brilliance.

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