Joy from the Heights

It’s official.

I like to fly.

Until this past weekend,

Any flight I took

Made me queasy.

Not this time…

And I’m sure it wasn’t only

The anti-nausea meds (grin).

On our flight west,

We broke through the clouds.

It was lovely.

It’s like flying above

A bed of cotton balls.

The view from below

Is obscured.

From above,

You can see

For miles and miles and miles.

And upon descent,

The clouds had broken up.

The world is amazing from above.

I especially noticed it

Upon our return.

We flew in at night.

When I see the lights

Of the city,

I see beauty.


The pollution.

The dirt.

The pain.

The injustice.

For a few moments,

I can forget they exist.

Upon touching down,

I must again be ready

To engage real people

In real life.

Make I somehow

Retain the joy from the heights

And bless those I encounter

On the ground.

Oh come, let us sing to the LORD! Let us shout joyfully to the Rock of our salvation…In His hand are the deep places of the earth; The heights of the hills are His also. The sea is His, for He made it; And His hands formed the dry land (Psalm 95:1; 4-5).


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