In the Wind

Gripping string I watched his hands wind and pull, sensitive to wind hundreds of feet above his reach.

I had told him how to hang on. How to hold tight but give when needed. When there’s too much slack, we pull the string and step backward until the wind picks it up again.

I flew the kite high enough to impress him, then I handed him the string and it fell. We wound it up again and started fresh, this time in his hands. He was still winding when the wind picked it up off the ground for him. He was surprised at it, but he took his cue and let it rise slow until he was flying it. He did it alone. All focus, all quiet, he let the colors rise and fly on currents he couldn’t see. Higher it rose, longer and longer the string was unwound until the end of what he had was exposed.

It was the best of a day that had tried to bury us. We are not so easily suffocated though, and wind blows so much over.

Better still, we decided to fly.

The pressure and pulse of Sunday morning deadlines, the heat of obstinate refusals, the disappointment of warnings unheeded, the frustration of thoughtless and selfish wanderings, the deep heartbreak of behavior that must be corrected, these were all of our morning, and then some. Like weights being laid one by one on our parent hearts, he did not fail his aim on any of them. Lower and lower we sank in it, until my only option was to keep him at my side constantly. No freedom. Not one moment away, not even to play with Legos. Trust is not easily recovered, but it is worth the effort.

We held hands everywhere we went. Not one time did he pull away from me. His usual desire to run ahead was overcome by his own desire for someone else to take control for a little while. His confidence came in my control. I never slowed him, only led him and he stayed. Almost 7 and full of ideas, but finding they don’t always satisfy, he was ready to follow for an afternoon.

The wind was rattling dry leaves so loudly we could hear the rush of it through closed windows, and like a vacuum it pulled us outside. We tossed up ideas of what to do and everything blew away but the kite.

We flew for a while, chased, laughed, took pictures and flew some more. Until the string broke. This kite was too big. It was the one we bought before kids, the one that we enjoyed just us two. So we drove to the store and found three small kites. Each one different, each one chosen.

The simplest one caught wind and flew. He had put it together all by himself. All I did was tie the string. He struggled at first but once he understood what made it dance he partnered with it and let the wind play a song for both of them. I called him “Kite Whisperer” and I let him fly as long as he wanted. The day was darkening and he was shivering, but he didn’t know it.

His heart was in the sky.

And I stood with him and took pictures of his triumph. Each inch of string let loose seemed to pull the weights off our hearts. He was in the wind, but not blown away by it. He was in control of something and it fueled his softness as well as his strength.

I stood behind him with tears in my eyes. Thankful for the redemption of a child’s heart. Thankful for a Holy Spirit that blows wind into our lives, but never abandons us to it.

Thankful that He picks us up right off the ground, even while we’re still winding back up and only trying to start over.

Thankful that when the end of what we have is exposed, we find we are flying our highest.

Thankful that we can feel the slack and back up a little until He catches us again.

Thankful that holding him tight, was a catalyst to letting him fly.