AUGUST 19

Wings of Flight

Isaiah 40:31

“GRAB HERE, AMIGO.” I grabbed.

“Hold on tight, por favor.” I held on.

“When you come toward shore and I blow whistle, you pull cord!”

Within seconds I was airborne. A loud “whoosh,” a long, strong jerk, and I was three hundred feet above the picturesque beach at Puerto Vallarta. You guessed it . . . my first try at parasailing. Four-and-a-half minutes of indescribable ecstasy sandwiched between a few seconds of sheer panic.

Above me was the bluest, clearest sky you could imagine. Behind me was a full-blown, dazzling red-and-white parachute. Down in front, attached to my harness and a long yellow rope, was a beat-up speedboat at full throttle. Below, the turquoise sea, various sailing vessels, a long row of hotels, sunbathers the size of ants, and one beautiful lady wondering if she would soon be a widow.

The wind whipped through my hair and tore at my swimsuit. But the sensation of flying in silence with nothing surrounding me besides a few nylon straps was breathtaking. The spectacular view plus the enjoyable feelings of soaring much like a seagull, introduced me to an adventurous freedom rarely encountered by earth dwellers. I must confess, for those few minutes I lost all concern for things that otherwise occupy my attention.

Such are the benefits of trusting in the Lord —we’re able to rise high above our limitations and experience the fresh lift of God’s provision and grace.

The prophet must have had this in mind when he penned these inspiring words:

Those who trust in the LORD will find new strength. They will soar high on wings like eagles.

ISAIAH 40:31

On a not so serious note, find what brings you relief and take time to soar!

A motorcycle ride along empty, winding roads.

An afternoon of sailing.

A beach to stroll.

A weekend on the slopes at Mammoth.

A quiet ride of several miles on a bike.

Take it from a survivor parasailer (I got the T-shirt!) . . . go for it. Stop thinking “mañana.” Grab here. Hold on tight. But be aware . . . wings are much more addictive than roots, amigo. Wouldn’t you rather soar?