I've often wondered if ostriches wish they could fly.
If they experienced flight, would they still be content walking along the ground?
Years ago I had the opportunity to learn to fly. I learned to steady the plane and watch for distress. I learned to watch for potential turbulence, adjust speed and elevation during a storm, and even gain flight time on exceptionally windy days. I learned the meaning of the colors on the control panel and learned to distinguish the planes variety of sounds, whistles, and warnings. I learned to communicate with other pilots mid-air and I learned the importance of constant contact with the control tower. I learned to seek out the jet stream and let the pneuma guide my flight. I learned to identify my longitude and latitude position in flight, as well learned to plot my destinations, my duration of flight, and my approximate estimated time of arrival. I learned to make adjustments of weather, temperature, and seasons. I learned to schedule take-offs and landings to ease passenger's comfort, safety, and/or maturity.
Oh, how I loved to fly.
I'm beginning to learn, however, that flying has become a curse more than a blessing. Just like the ostrich, perhaps if I had never experienced flight, I would not know what I was missing. I could have been perfectly content with two-feet-on-the-ground. But now? After flying?
I use to think that giving people experiences was a good thing. My second-half of life realism tells me, however, that some experiences only set me up for prolonged disappointment. Perhaps disappointment turns into memories of the past. But can a person who has flown be content to be ever-grounded? Can flying simply become a good dream?
I have an entire shelf of books on "flight." Perhaps it is time to pack away the books so I won't be reminded of my time in the sky.
Sometimes I wish I had never learned to fly.
I am ruined.
Discontent.
Frustrated.
To be grounded is to eat crumbs off the table while others feast on fresh bread.
God, help me be content. Keep my eyes from looking into the sky. Let the crumbs fill me and my two walking feet satisfy. If I'm not to fly again, please replace my desire to fly with something attainable - a new goal, new idea, new vision. Open my eyes to joy around me so I can be happy on the ground.
