Here I found myself once again next to the waters of the intracoastal, sitting among the rows upon rows of neon blue chairs that lined this "Chapel by the Lake." Kind of a misnomer, I suppose. There was no lake, only the waters of the intracoastal. But I suppose that "Chapel by the Lake" is easier to say than "Chapel by the Intracoastal Waterway," (especially since most people don't even know how to correctly pronounce "in-tra-coastal," as opposed to the ever-popular "in-ter-coastal") so I don't make a fuss.
But I digress. I sat there, among the hundreds of empty chairs that looked pretty old. Not too old, however. It wasn't as if they were completely forgotten about and left to be dilapidated. Instead, it was just like somebody didn't want to put the extra work in to make these chairs look super nice. Kinda like when you wear clothes around the house: you don't put on your nicest clothes - just enough to fill society's rule that you must wear fabrics at all times. So these chairs were dirty enough to leave white dust on your clothes when you sat on them, but they were still trustworthy enough to sit in... most of the time.
These were the chairs I sat among, and as I prayed, I watched a man flying a kite with his toddler-aged son. I had watched them set it up earlier, and noted how excited the father looked to introduce kite-flying to his amazed little boy, who was simultaneously befuddled as to the mechanics of this whole operation. He had the kid hold the handle while his larger hands made sure that the kite wouldn't fall down or fly away, sitting down so he could be at the same level as his son, who was standing up.
The kite soon flew at a height of at least 30 feet in the air, which was pretty impressive, even for a grown-up like me. It was one of those cool, atypical kites whose frame was a series of three connected boxes that formed a triangle-type shape. I mused that these unique-looking types of kites were probably the best ones, with physics that allowed for the most stable and controlled of all flight patterns.
But then my musings took me further. As far as the Trinity, in fact. That's a large mental leap, you say? Probably. Maybe not. Either way, the kite reminded me of God. The kite also reminded me of us. It's almost as if we are kites. The Father stays on the ground, sending and directing us, controlling our flight patterns; raising us to great heights. However, this would mean nothing if it were not for the Son connecting us to the Father, providing the only means of ever getting in touch with His willful direction. Even this, however, would not be enough, for a kite is as nothing without the wind, Who is the Holy Spirit flowing through us in such a way that we even have the ability to lift off in the first place. He empowers our flight, keeps us in the air, and sustains the beauty that is seen when people in blue chairs look on and see the masterful direction of the Father.
You say that my musings were a large mental leap. I disagree. The beauty of created things were meant to point us back to the Creator. All that we see should be a reminder of the glory of God. A reflection of His nature is grafted into all that we experience, from the birthing of a newborn child, to the amazing flavor of fish tacos, to the pain in friendships, and to the flying of kites.
For what can be known about God is plain to them, because God has shown it to them. For his invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made. (Romans 1)Perhaps, if we haven't been seeing these things, it is because we need to start looking differently.
Perhaps we need to go fly a kite.
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