“Griff said you had a dream about flying,” Einar says.
“Yeah. I got so high I could see where the blue turns to black. From up there, you could see all there is. And it looked like,” Mitch pauses, “there was a reason for everything.”
While critics seem to find the film somewhat sentimental and predictable, I found the film a moving story of the healing of people’s wounded-ness and—as the above exchange between Einar and Mitch reflects—an affirmation of life in spite of the horrible things that can happen to us. And I appreciate a story like that because it reminds me that much of how we approach and operate in life is a matter of perspective.
Too often, mine is focused too low to the ground, where making sense of things from there may work for awhile but inevitably something shatters whatever sense of control or power I worked out for myself. But gazing from higher up—up where “blue turns to black”—things look different. Those glimpses are fewer than I desire, but somewhere along the way I began taking steps towards trusting those moments and the One who gives them to me. That didn’t happen overnight, but over years of working through it and walking with Jesus, who somehow continues to reveal and prove himself in spite of my doubts, fears and questions. After all that walking, I've yet to arrive, but I'm learning to live with that, too. To borrow a turn of phrase, it isn't a finished life, but it's a good life.
And this is a film that reminds me of all this—sentimental and formulaic as it may be.