I took the new black nylon diamond out of the back of my van hoping the wind would sustain it. Aron ran along beside me, mostly disinterested in kite flying when there was a playground within sight. I wasn’t trying to test his patience, but I wanted to see if this new one was flight worthy.
It was the third kite I had made over the weekend. We had been out flying them as a family a few times and only one of our kites purchased at a sporting goods store was consistent about staying aloft. I had decided to spend about $10.00 and make my own. The red and black nylon, ribbon and dowel rods I purchased were enough to make three kites (maybe more if I put some scraps together) and on the third one I decided to experiment a bit.
The other two, red and shaped in a triangle, flew beautifully. The black one I cut into the classic diamond shape. I had designed it with a hem pocket for the longest dowel and side pockets and a ribbon loop for the perpendicular rod. I tied the string to it, attached a bright pink grosgrain ribbon for a tail and set out to see if she would sail.
The wind was not particularly cooperative and I thought I might be wasting my time, but upon my announcement to myself that I would set her up one more time, she got hold of a stiff breeze. Up she went, higher and higher, sometimes the wind would give out and I’d yank the string a bit, sometimes she pulled so hard the skin on my finger would slice open from the strings swift cut.
As I stood there, every moment wondering if I should pull it back in I was prompted to pay attention. The Holy Spirit is always ready to teach and I felt so strongly the parallels of kite flying and parenting. Sometimes we have to give them more string so they can fly higher. Sometimes we pull them in to protect and guide them. Sometimes we keep them grounded. Sometimes we are only holding our breath, hoping they are high enough to avoid the trees and praying they are low enough that they aren’t broken if they fall. All of these things played out with the kite, sometimes the wind carried, sometimes it jerked and spun and slammed the kite to the ground. Always, my motivation was to see it fly. Always I was mindful of what it could handle, what would potentially ruin it as well as what would make it a success.
Finally, that last flight had shown me it’s potential. A good windy day in March or April will surely prove it, but I at least knew that she would fly. I began to reel in the string, winding it carefully to keep it from tangling, when the wind stopped dead around me. I looked up and sure enough the kite tail was curling up relaxed and the kite was losing air. From the distance I was standing I couldn’t tell the depth well and wondered how close I actually was to the three tall trees below the kite. I ran back, pulled on the string and watched the tail dip and drag over the top branches of the little trio of trees. I would have to work quickly. I pulled, backed up and was able to skim over two of them but was unable to keep it out of the last one. Slowly but surely I watched it settle into a cradle of tiny twigs, black nylon diamond and pink tail stark and still within a web of branches.
I couldn’t decide whether to be frustrated, disappointed, sad or embarrassed. I had spent a lot of time on that kite, and I wasn’t prepared to leave it stranded in a tree.
“Keep watching.” It seemed the Holy Spirit was still trying to show me something. Something warm and confident rose up inside me as I wound the rest of my string up and approached the tree. I pulled and let loose, pulled and let loose, inching the kite branch by branch closer to me. Still the tree held on and as time passed and Aron grew restless, I knew I had to let go.
I gave the string a purposeful yank that I knew would separate me from the kite, possibly for good, wound it up with my dignity and walked away.
I was a bit perplexed, but still the Holy Spirit was urging me to keep watching.
I prayed. It seemed almost silly but I knew there had to be more to this story. “Lord, I pray for a stiff wind to blow that kite free. I want it back. I made it and I like it, and I really want it back. When you blow it down, will you keep it from blowing away? Will you blow it where I can get to it again?”
Then I drove away. I passed by it and saw it still nestled in the tree for two days. Two cold and windy days. The tree was relentless and the kite held fast. My faith did too. I grew more and more confident that logic would have to resign in this one and that my fantastic idea of bringing my kite home would win out in the end.
I spoke up each time we drove by the tree on our way out of our neighborhood, “There’s my kite, still waiting for my stiff wind to blow it down to me.”
Finally, two days after leaving the kite in the tree, Aron and I were on our way to pick up the older two boys at school and we noticed the tree was empty. I was sitting at the four way stop where I normally turn left to leave, but seeing no kite I left my blinker off thinking I would drive straight across to find the kite somewhere near the park on the side where the trees stood. Just before I drove forward, something caught my eye. I had to catch my breath as I realized what I was looking at. Mere feet from the sidewalk, alongside the road that I take every day out of the neighborhood, lay the kite. As if waiting for me on the corner. Not across the way, not in the backyard of a house near the park, not in any of the places I had imagined I might find it and still get to it. Far beyond my expectation, the kite had come to me. Like a prodigal come home, it was not just accessible but seemingly cooperative as well. I turned my van left, as I usually do, stopped just past the intersection and got out. I gathered it up and lay it in the back and said, “thank you.”
He was definitely showing me something. He was showing me that He is in control. That He can do anything. That life has catches sometimes, but He has fixes. He spoke again but this time it was not “keep watching,” this time He said, “remember this.”
I held it tight. This remembrance. This knowing that God can bring a kite from a tree, and set it lightly at my feet. More than that, He can bring a child home, He can bring health and wholeness, He can answer a prayer. More than that, He can speak to a heart and prompt a prayer that goes against logic.
Faith doesn’t come by remembering. Faith doesn’t come by experience. Faith doesn’t come by logic. Faith doesn’t come by seeing.
Faith comes by hearing. That stillness that shapes words in my soul … “watch” … “pay attention” … “remember.” He spoke, and I heard, and faith was born.
Hearing then is the prompting for the prayer of faith. Hearing is the birth of the miraculous.
How do we hear?
We know the answer.
So many of us have heard it before.
“So then faith comes by hearing, and hearing by the word of God.” Romans 10:17 (NKJV)
Hearing comes by knowing Him. Hearing comes when we recognize the voice of our Savior and the message He has for us. Hearing comes when we have become familiar with the Word.
I don’t have any verses about kites memorized. My faith didn’t rise up from deep principles about loft and wind speed put into practice, my faith came when I heard the voice of my Savior. The Spirit of the Living God moved me and I responded with prayer.
We tend to complicate faith as a feeling and attitude we must conger up. I don’t pretend it requires nothing, but it requires nothing mystical. It requires time. Everyday in the Word. Everyday on our knees. Everyday purposing and re-purposing the minutes, the moments we have, to becoming familiar with Him.
Faith can come to any of us, if we are paying attention. Faith comes in the midst of wind and busy. Faith comes in the drought and in the rain. Faith comes in the serious and in the silly. As long as we are willing to hear past what we see, and believe the still and small voice as it whispers directly to us.
The Holy Spirit brings the song we need for the circumstance we are in, and faith comes by hearing.
I love this.