Heading south toward the airport, lightning bolts tear through sky fabric dark and wet. We are flying to a dry place—a desert space where we don’t need faith in the sun we can’t see.
Spring in Wisconsin often gives dry thirst where we long for warmth but have none—where we long for sun, but see none—where we feel the mud muck under our feet and hope for the day of dry land, ready for planting and growing and feeding. We wait. And we wonder . . .
How long, O Lord? How long?
Strapped in our seats, this thin-skinned, horizontal tube filled with God’s most precious cargo races down a stretch of rain-pelted concreete and lifts. Within seconds we are consumed in vapor, blinded to all below and all above. Instruments guide where pilots can’t see. And we all have faith. We all believe. Through shaking and bobbing, this God of all keeps us aloft and lifts us into a place those below only hold with faith. We rise above the storm. We come through the clouds.
What was once held by faith is now seen with eyes . . .
The sun in all its brilliance, so bright—so dazzling—my eyes cannot consume and I divert my gaze slightly to the cloud bank below, reflecting. And I reflect . . .
How is it that in a moment our reality can change? How is it that we won’t have faith in what we can’t see?
Like lightning rips the sky in an instant, so our lives can rip and unravel.
Loss of all kinds. Grief.
Here, in the muck of life, we wail, “WHY?!”
Here, in the pain of brokenness, we wonder, “HOW LONG?!”
Oh, for a ray of hope! Where is faith, hope, and love in such dark and stormy times?
Can we rise above and fly into the arms of our Maker who holds His universe together—who holds US together when we feel ripped apart and dark and our sunken cheeks are wet with tears? He sends vehicles to take us there when our wings are too broken to fly—when our engines sputter and quit and we start to nose-dive into emotional death spirals. God, who is Love, sends his love through His people. His people hold hope when we can’t hold it ourselves. This is how we find courage to carry on—to rise above.
Our lives here are but a vapor in a dimension of many. Yet, we are earth-bound. We are time-bound. We are flesh-bound. Just for a time.
In an instant, we’ll be changed—in an instant, when we see the Son again, face-to-face in all His brilliance. And in the meantime, we can have faith in what we can’t see. We can rise above, because the Son is above our cloudy days—our stormy seasons. He carries us through the turbulence.
Believe! Believe in the beyond.
There is a place where all is well. There is a Person, three-in-one, who makes all well—who is making all things well. And He lives with and in His beloved people—right here, right now—encouraging, strengthening, holding hope for a new day—a brighter day—a day filled with all things good. Even in the storms, He will help us rise above . . .
in reality we yet cannot see.
Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. Hebrews 11:1
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 40:31
Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. I Corinthians 13:12-13