Soaring

Pooh Bear and I went for a nice walk this morning, almost 45 minutes. My neighbor Frank drove it on his bicycle and told me that I walked 2.36 miles. I don't really push myself and if I wanted to train for a half marathon, I'd need to pick up the pace. But for Pooh Bear and me, it's good enough.

We saw some baby hawks in along the way, quite high up and almost ready to fly. They're testing their wings a lot now, and the fuzzy white feathers are falling off, making room for sturdier ones to sustain them in flight. Wow, how scary that must be, to be 30 feet up and know that once you step out, there's no turning back - those wings better work and you better be flapping them like crazy. And how do you land? You wont' know until you try it.

How often life is like the baby hawks. We step out onto the end of the branch, 30 feet up. The momma bird says jump. We do, not knowing what will happen. And we soar. I love to soar but in the process, it doesn't always felt like soaring. Many times it has felt like dive bombing but I never splat. That's the God-factor for me. I never splat. Even though I think I'm gonna crash for sure, He lifts me up and I soar. When I look back, it truly was soaring, even when it didn't 'feel' that way.

Soaring doesn't always feel so good. Sometimes it is quite scary. I am grateful for the life I have, and it all starts with getting on my knees each day, followed by getting out some measuring cups and scales. Why does it work? Why do those wings hold the baby birds up? What would knowing change? Soaring for me is to take the risk to just do it.

I'm way too philosophical for myself today, so I'm gonna go hop in the shower. I pray that we all soar today. It beats the alternatives, eh? Absoulutely.
Love, Gerri
trust God and Buy Broccoli