Clouds

Yesterday I was flying above the clouds, on a one-way trip to Baltimore. From there, I took a variety of trains in an attempt to get to Philadelphia. Leaving Baltimore, from the window of the train, I saw miles of buildings with broken windows and broken walls. Some were old factories, some were old homes. And after that, suburbs and bridges and towns.

At first, in the plane, I was wrapped up in my thoughts and in some anguished prayers, but mostly just wrapped up in myself. When I opened my eyes, I noticed all those clouds outside the window. Some were shooting up in the distance like mountains. Directly below the airplane, the clouds were like mist—you knew you would fall right through. But just beyond the wings, the clouds appeared formed, firm, and stable.

As I looked out at the clouds, I saw how they stretched on as far as my eyes could see. And in a minor moment of spiritual realization, I thought about the verse that says God has cast our sins as far as the east is from the west. And it had greater meaning to me, I think, because I was lifted so high above the cares of the world below me.

It was nice to enjoy the clouds, because I had recently gone through a period of time in which I had stopped enjoying the clouds. Fifteen to twenty years ago, I used to make a yearly flight across the country from San Diego to Michigan. And I remember one flight in which I planned to do some reading but all I could do was stare at the beautiful scenery out the window—mountains and canyons and clouds. It was a memorable time of silent praise to God for His handiwork. But then, over this past year, I realized that I could get into a plane and sit there and barely enjoy the scenery; I was too concerned about the cares of life.

I had thought that the days of enjoying clouds were past. I was too old and nothing was new anymore. But instead, I found myself silently worshiping God again this morning from Southwest Flight 0760 from Norfolk to Baltimore. And I’m so grateful that God can make us young again.