It’s been windy here lately, fronts moving through and all that. But I like the wind. It reminds me of the immense world in which I walk. These blusters and sweeping coils of rushing breezes result from the collision of giant masses of air the sizes of countries, of one mass pushing and moving against another, chasing it across a continent. And the wind I feel on the street outside my house is part of that immense collision, those colossal waves of air and pressure pressing and tumbling across the expanse of the world.The last couple of weeks, however, I’ve spent a great deal of time inside with sick kids and didn’t notice it much. When I did go out of the house, it was often for a quick run to the store in the car, another trip to the doctor’s office, or—more recently—to catch up on Christmas shopping. Always with an agenda, a purpose, a goal or task to complete, the movement from one point to another without much thought of what’s in-between. It’s rather like moving about like a blindered horse, with only the road in front of you and the task at hand. Things like the wind barely registered on my radar.
But the kids got well and the agendas faded. And at some point I found myself walking down the street by myself. The wind was blowing, and this time I noticed. It was the warm-and-cool kind, soft on my face.
It felt like a breath.
And in that instant that enormous fender-bender of air masses brought back the words of God’s breathing across the deep in the genesis of our world. In all that agenda-completing and task-at-hand business, I realized I’d not only missed the wind but God as well. That wind not only put me back into the world outside the rooms of my house and the rolled-up-windowed-space of my car, it pulled me outside of myself to re-discover that God is right here.
So, for now, the wind is a bit like my encounters with those armadillos and spiders, like walking around the corner and bumping into God. After a brief, unsettled moment, I remember where I am. I remember where I really, truly live and breath. That’s a moment when I exhale a repentant apology and inhale clean, sweet, wide-open-spaces air. It’s a moment of stabbing joy, because I remember who I am and for what I’m made. It’s a taste of the Kingdom in which I live and the heaven I long for. It is the scent of fresh Kingdom-air. A breath of freedom. It is real-ness. Light. And love.
So, here’s to a holy wind-sweeping. Amen.
(by Matt's Flicks at flickr; Some rights reserved)