For the Love of Flying

Strong hands grasp Maisy around the waist. Giggles burst forth as soon as my husband has lifted her as high as his knee. For a baby, that's flying.

Liam leaps from the sofa into my arms, laughing all the way.  For a small boy, that's as close to flying as Mommy allows in the living room.

We push the bicycle back to the beginning and Nathanael pumps the pedals.  He is confident that I will not let go until he is ready.  Frustration has begun to build, but trust makes him try again. I believe he can do it. He is not so sure. My steadying fingers let go and I yell, "You're doing it! You're doing it! Keep pedaling!" Face flushed pink with effort, he is breathing hard as he hugs tight. "It's like flying! Oh, wow. It's so great!" he marvels.

Little Hannah tightens her death grip on me as she cuddles closer on my lap. Soaring upward on our first ever jet, our hearts beat hard. Her head pops up with eyes widened in wonder. Why are the clouds below us?  I smile at her and laugh. We are flying.

Mark takes a deep breath. He is nervous, afraid. On the edge of his courage, determined, he jumps into the sunshine and pops open the parachute.  Laughing with joyful wonder he bursts into prayers of praise.  He is flying.

"Some glad morning when this life is o'er, I'll fly away. Like a bird from prison bars has flown, I'll fly away!"